


The Stirling Cycle

by SpeculativeCorvid, Unseen_Academical



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adulthood, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Kid Jim Moriarty, Kid Sebastian Moran, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, mistakes were made or were they?, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24217594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeculativeCorvid/pseuds/SpeculativeCorvid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unseen_Academical/pseuds/Unseen_Academical
Summary: Jim M. and Sebastian Moran are an odd pair, arcing back into each other from childhood. A whirlwind caught between searing heat and icy cold left with one option: grandiose escalation.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	1. Isothermic Heat Addition

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, 
> 
> This is something a bit different than my normal work. I've been writing with a great friend/writer in the Sherlock RP community, and we decided to go ahead and post a piece that we recently finished. 
> 
> Yes, I am still working on my other works. I've just been rather demotivated due to everything going on, and having a hard time finding the motivation to work on my other things. <3 
> 
> But seriously, check out Unseen's work!

Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave a slight groan as the dirt smudge came out pink tingled. Bullies always had a field day going after him, but he had learned early on to think circles around them. Find an isolated, nice spot to bubble and let the boisterous kids cackle among their eager public. Keep your head down, do not stand out. Do. Not. Fight. Back.

Looks like it wasn't quite enough though. 

He wiped the proof of his sorry encounter against his ill-fitted, off-white T-shirt. Courtesy of one or the other old lady from the parish this T-shirt. They often dropped old clothes from either sons or nephews for him and his father's use. Everyone pitied his father, a man drowning in alcoholism since the death of his wife, left alone to raise their only boy. 5 years old and already so much weighting down his little shoulders, they muttered above his head with compassionate looks. Jim, he did not pity the wreaked husk that was his father. Drifting each day closer, if not to his wife, at least to the resting place of her rotting body. He did pity himself, that had to bear the condescending sympathy of adults and the cruelty of the other children. Not that he cared much though.

It was not just or deserved, he knew. It just was like that and that was all. He had come to accept and be the awkward, quiet kid. His miserable birthright condemning him to the laughingstock. He would stay quietly on his own, making himself just hard enough to locate to discourage the annoying kids from going after him. That is, until Carl Powers showed up.

Carl was popular. Carl was a rising sport hope. Carl was vicious. And he had picked Jim as his prey. Where the kids would normally stop at jeers and nasty jokes, Carl would push and pull. He would raise Jim from his hiding spots to rough him up. He would go after what little he had and destroy it.

As Jim's eyes fell on the ruined library book, he felt something in his tiny soul crumble.

\--

All Sebastian _wanted_ to do with skiv off his English class and smoke in his spot, waiting for Tommy to get outta his class so they could ditch for the day and go fuck around in town. Not like he needed to be in that class anyway; Borston's class was a joke (he could ace it in his sleep) and the guy was so fuckin' scared of his father that Sebastian could probably away with murder. Really, it was all a load of bullshit. The problem with more than half the town being in his family's pocket was that it meant there wasn't any fun. No one pushed at him and if they did, his father fixed it so fast that it wasn't even enjoyable and then took the trouble out on him.

It fuckin' sucked and he couldn't _wait_ to turn sixteen and get out of this shithole.

His day was just going from bad to worse. Not only was he gonna be waiting an hour for Tommy, but that goddamn Powers punk was in his spot. _Again_. He'd scared the little shit away last time, but apparently, he shoulda made the point with his fists (there was a reason they called him Basher) instead of his words. Hopefully the little shit would fuck off without much trouble, if he came home with blood on his clothes again his father'd beat'im blue. "Hey Powers!" He snapped, approaching the shaded area. It was the perfect spot, where two buildings met and there had once been a little decorative courtyard, not even five meters across. They'd boarded the entrance up because the custodial staff had gotten tired of cleaning the place up after it got trashed every break and it'd been locked up since before Sebastian had started school there. The main entrance was locked, secondary required slipping through a metal fence. Sebastian had the key because he'd bribed the head custodian with a few notes slipped from his father's wallet, but apparently Powers figured out how to get in through the fence and was now bringing his newest victims here to fuck with them. 

Christ, how low could that fucker go? Had some little black-haired kid on his knees, his shit all spread over the ground. "Thought I told you to stay the fuck outta my space. Really gonna come back here? What, don't want anyone to see you beat down some little primary school kid?" 

Carl was still new-ish in town, but even he was quick enough to know what family owned the place. Didn't stop the little fucker from opening his mouth though. "Just 'cause your da owns the town don't mean you do, little lord." Carl sneered. 

"Piss off, Powers. Don't make me get my shirt dirty just to whoop you, you whore's son." He was really getting tempted though... He'd strip his shirt off and go at the little cunt but he wasn't dumb enough to show off his father's handiwork even in a secluded space like this.

Powers turned towards him completely now, his face reddened. That's the sore spot, Sebastian noted with a pleased expression. Shame the little fuck wasn't gonna take the hint and leave. Not that it'd matter, Sebastian had hit another growth spurt and was already rocketing up to a solid 168cm, a bit awkward in his limbs still but bulking up nicely at 14. They already said he'd be big once he got older. Powers was still a hell of a lot smaller than him, the primary school kid on the ground was even smaller and he could take the scrappy little fuck easy. "My mum ain't no whore, you fucking cunt!" His fists were balled, his face scrunched and angry. 

"Both know that isn't true, been spreadin' her legs for my father since she started workin' for him." Bullseye (and the truth). Carl ran at him _(idiot)_ and it was easy to trip him, shove him down. His boots were heavy and worn and he kicked him hard while he was down, making the eleven-year-old cry out. "Get the fuck outta here and stay _out_ or next time I'll break your fuckin' arm, Powers. Say goodbye to that swimmin' scholarship, yeah?" A solid threat too, Sebastian was known for his surly attitude and his penchant to pick fights. He'd barely been saved from being shipped off to a military boarding school last fall, his mum saying to give him another chance. 

God did that bring a smile to his face, watching him scurry off with his tail between his legs. He'd thought he was some tough shit since showing up that year, making friends with everyone and bragging about his mom and dad's jobs. Irritating. "And you," Sebastian turned back towards the pathetic looking kid. Christ, where _did_ Powers scoop that one from? Boy couldn't be more than ten, and even that was pushing it. "Where'd he snag you from, huh? St. Mary's down the road?" The only primary school nearby, so it had to be there. "Go out through there," He nodded towards the now unlocked door, pulling a crumpled pack of stolen cigs from his pocket and a cheap lighter. "'N some nice teacher’ll take you back to your mum. Keep your fuckin' mouth shut 'bout all this or next time won't just be Powers on your ass." 

\--

Moran. Sebastian. Jim had gotten a few glimpses of the older boy. And marked him down as -probably not a threat if not crossed-. He was not eager to go right now for an in-depth update on the older student character after narrowly avoiding one row with Powers. He just gathered his littered things silently (-it did not take much time-) and made for the open grid. Moran's eyes had been on each of his movements, in a kind of bored disinterest. It only occurred to Jim after getting out of sight at last, that he ought to have pulled a show. Any one of his classmates would have had some kind of reaction. Uncontrollable sobbing or gratitude. Outright fear… He pulled a face. He needed to do better.

++

The first few weeks of middle school had been a nightmare. By the end of primary school, a teacher had noticed he was uncommonly bright, if apparently terribly shy about it. He had enrolled Jim in a national exam after convincing him under confidence that if he succeeded, he would be able to get into one of the best schools in the country without a fee to be covered. For once, Jim had had hopes to get out, and thrown caution and his deep-seated dissimulation instinct to the wind. He had passed with flying colors.

But then there had been the crashing delusion. His father had refused that he’d leave. His hand had clenched protectively around his wrist as he’d refused stubbornly every one of his teacher’s arguments. When both of them got home, he’d fallen to his knees in front of his son, hugged his frame and started sobbing disgustingly on his shoulder. 'Your mother would want us to stay together.' He had said. 'She would have wanted we took care of each other.' Jim had watched him go and slump in his armchair, as he was left standing in the hallway. Alone, bitter and disenchanted. Not only had this not gained him anything, but it had made things worse. The staff had heard of him and his results and singled him out, with the ridiculous conviction adults can sometime display, that make him shine would help him 'develop' as a child. They made him stand out and it took a lot of work from Jim to gain their disinterest once again. But it was a little too late, and only got Carl more fixed on making every minute of his life miserable. 

++

Carl was afraid of Moran. It was a good thing to Jim, because it gave him one place Carl did not dare investigate too much when he was hunting him down, in case he ran into the other kid. Jim had to be careful though, because he did not care about having to be afraid of Moran too. As thing stood, it was easy to take a quick peek to check if the place was free before taking refuge in. After that, it was just a matter of being attentive to the tell-tale steps and clink of keys turning in the keyhole. He was fast on his feet, and his scrawny frame made it easy to squeeze between the planks supposedly closing the other side of the courtyard. Moran would have to jump them to get him, and that was hopefully more of an effort than he would be ready to go for, and enough of a delay if he did. But really, Jim just had to make sure not to be spotted to get the better of each world.

\--

Someone was fucking with him. Sebastian wasn't stupid, he'd noticed the little things first. The scuff marks, the way some of the brush was moved... Then he'd shuffled in one day, slowly and a bit more quiet than normal. It had been a rough night, he'd gotten caught sneaking back into the house after slipping out after dark and his father had been waiting up for him. He'd used the signet rings like normal, the buckle end of the belt. Nothing that'd show when he wore his school uniform, though he was forced to keep the sleeves unrolled to hide the finger-sized bruises from where he'd grabbed him. He'd been up all night from the banger he'd slipped off to, then from the pain. He just wanted to try and catch a kip in the shade under the big old tree in the corner of the courtyard, nurse his wounds in private and daydream and plot his escape plan. One year, five months. 

But when he'd gotten into the courtyard, he'd caught the first glimpse of a shirt as someone slipped out the other side and it'd ruined his day even further. 

It took way too long to figure it out. Eventually, he'd camped on the other side of the fence, hiding by a building and just staying out of sight. He'd sent Tommy clunking in to scare off the kid and like clockwork, the little fuck slipped out just as Tommy entered and Sebastian got his first... well, second good look at the little shit. It was that dark-haired kid from before, the one he'd thought went to St. Mary's before he'd seen the uniform as the kid had slinked out after the Powers thing. He'd dug around after that. Kid's name was Jim Moore, a loner. No friends. Dead mum, drunk da. Sob story if he'd ever seen one. No wonder Powers fucked with him, he was small and weak and (according to the rumors) smart when he wasn't hiding. It pissed him off for the longest time, this little fucker kept coming into _his_ space. Was Powers scarier than him? No, he was _not_. Was Sebastian gonna have to fuck this kid up too just to get him to fuck off? Probably. 

Did he want to? A bit. 

Really, he just wanted his spot. It was _his_ place, and no one else could get in unless he let them, other than that Jim kid, and that was 'cuz he was small enough to slip through the gap in the fencing. No one else could. Could he nail the slot up? Yes. He had options, he could have Tommy scare'em out and then snag'em when he left. He could just... pretend the kid was never there, it wasn't like he was _doing_ anything... But people would think he was soft and he wasn't soft. He just wanted his _spot_ back. He didn't have anywhere else, his house was full of servants and had his father. He had to act and be the perfect son, rebel in little ways, hide. This was the only place he could get away from it all. Read his books, smoke his cigs, nurse his wounds. Daydream and pretend he was somewhere else. 

He had to make a point, get this kid away because... _fuck_ , he wasn't losing his sanctuary to some kid who got shit on because he was tiny. Although... He was torn, really. The kid was small and quick, Sebastian had seen him run off. Quick 'n fast 'n clever 'n small... could be good to have him at his beck and call, he was constantly getting into trouble and having someone who could keep an eye out when he was doing stuff would help. Fuck it. 

Sebastian waited in the high up limbs on the old tree. He'd brought a book and snuck a few snacks from the kitchen and he'd been camped out all day. Eventually the kid would come and he'd strike... Until then, well... He'd brought his favorite book, _'Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage'_ and he was content to read and daydream. He almost fell asleep too, the warm sun making him drowsy... But the soft sound of wood scraping as it moved jarred him awake and he looked with eager blue eyes as Jim crept into the courtyard. He waited until the kid was far enough in that Seb'd have a chance to get him if he ran, then pounced. 

He landed from the tree on steady feet, standing between the kid and his only exit, the other door locked. His satchel was slung over his shoulder and he dropped it onto the dirt, taking care to put his book down on top of it. It was well-worn, cared for but obviously read and reread a hundred times over and he'd bought it with his own money (stolen, but still). "Think I didn't catch you sneakin' out a few times, kid?" Sebastian cocked his head, "It's Jim, isn't it?" He asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "Thought you'd have known this from last time, but this is _my_ spot." He growled the last few words, tightening his fist threateningly. "You're a quick kid, aren't you, Jim? Bit clever too, I heard. So you and I, I think we can come to an agreement that doesn't end up with you leavin' here in piss soaked pants and with a bloodied lip, right?"

His scowl widened into a grin, though it didn't look very friendly... "I could use someone small like you. No one pays you any attention, no one gives a damn. You run for me 'n I won't smash your face in. Fuck, I'll even let you hide out here if you keep your goddamn mouth shut and leave me alone." His grin widened, looking a bit less threatening and he rocked back in his boots (against dress code, but who'd fuck with him?) and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Or I beat the shit outta you and toss your ass to Powers. How's that sound?" 

\--

Jim heard the loud thump behind him, and his first instinct was to skitter off as fast as possible. But the older boy was standing firmly between him and the only exit. He set his jaw and froze, waiting to see if Moran would let him off with a scare, like he had done with Powers the last time. His stomach sunk when a wicked grin stretched the older boy's face. No easy escape then. Looks like he’d succeeded in being singled out again.

Fast? He was fast. And knew about every nook of his place. Moran had each and every eye of the teaching staff riveted on him and that was bound to be a hindrance whatever the influence of his father. Especially since Moran the elder could not be too happy about his son's behavior… If the almost hidden blue tingle marbling the skin right above his wrist was anything to go by. Jim's eyes rested on it for a fraction of seconds before snapping back up to older boy’s. If Powers was 'roughing him up', he was sure he did not want to see what Moran could do to him.

His decision made (-in about a fraction of second really-), he gave a silent, nervous swallow and answered in a flat voice.

"Yeah, ok. I’ll do it."

\--

Suspicion confirmed. Sebastian hadn't been entirely sure about the kid, there was some stuff floating around and he'd kept an eye out for him the past few weeks... Odd things, really. Like the way Jim had looked pathetic and sad and miserable when Powers had him beat down, but when Sebastian had threatened to do the same he'd just sort of... left. Like there wasn't anything _in_ there. Like the fear had been there, but not nearly as deep as portrayed. A shallow pond that looked like a lake. Most kids would've been grateful or cried or something, but he'd just quietly gathered his shit and left. 

It'd piqued his interest just a bit. Which wasn't saying much, really, because he was bored and tired of his classes. His 'friends' were afraid of him or his father, sucking up to gain his favor and he'd let them because he knew. But it was something new and weird and he'd poked around. This Jim kid was 'weird' with a capital 'W'. He was supposedly shy, but he didn't _act_ like a proper shy kid. He ducked his head and stayed down to avoid trouble, but those eyes weren't afraid, they were _watching_. They were doing that now, too. Not real fear, not fear of him. At most, the fear of getting hurt. Weird fucking kid. Had that rabbit act down pat, but something just felt a bit odd about him and Sebastian couldn't put his finger on it. 

All he knew was that he didn't really like that... the lizard-like tone of voice. Kinda dead, for a kid who should be shakin' in his hand-me-downs. "Smarter than you look. Good. Let's put that to the test then, yeah?" His grin was almost the same as it'd be years later; crooked, a facade of friendliness with no real warmth behind it. "Headmaster Kendall's got a drawer in his study. S'where he keeps all the shit he's nicked from students. Been trying to get in there for months, but he only fucks outta there when there's somethin' goin' down." Sebastian shrugged, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, pulling a crumbled half-empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one with the cheap plastic lighter. 

"Fuckin' hates me, so I'll make a ruckus..." Two birds, one stone. The chemistry lab teacher had told his father he'd been skipping classes. Really, they should keep those flammable chemicals locked up better... "You'll slip in 'n grab anythin' good. Really just want my cards 'n my knife back, but never hurts to have something to dangle as bait later on." Fucking prick had caught him just as he'd won a hand in the 3rd-floor bathroom, taken all his shit. "It's locked, but I can get the key. Just take a day or two..." He had an in with the head custodian. A bit of cash and a big smile and batting his eyes got him anything from that fuckin' perv. "Pull that off 'n you can hide here." 

\--

Jim had no need of Moran to break into the headmaster’s office. He didn' t tell him though. The school was an old building, and the doors were sturdy, reliable things. But the locks… Jim had noticed early on the keys the teachers and staff used to go around had a similar look. It was just a game afterward to pair what key opened so many doors. And it happened the headmaster office, that had been recently relocated on the ground floor because the old coot had grown a limp after an injury, was opened by the same little key than a couple of other doors from the administrative section. And there were not enough keys like this one for each person to have a personal one, so one was left hanging in a dissimulated nook of the administration private cafeteria.

The school was deserted at night, and it never was a difficult task to sneak in through a window purposefully left open earlier. Security was far from top-notch in their remote little town. Add to this how most people acted on habit... Each day a repeat of the same pattern, to Jim's benefit. If one window had not been opened for 20 years, the caretaker would not check to see if it were closed and secured before calling it a day. Jim carefully skimmed the shadowed corridors, relieving in the quietness of the usually busy building. His worn shoes were silent against the tills where the secretary’s hills would usually clack hurriedly.

He lifted the key from its little hidden nook and opened the headmaster’s office without any difficulty. Locating the drawer was no harder. Kendall belonged to this type of adult who needed to contemplate the tangible proof of their power over the kids they managed. He opened the drawer and located Moran’s stuff all right but… If he took only the knife and card it would paint a target on Moran’s back. He did not especially want to help, but alienating the older boy even in an indirect fashion, would not be smart. Take everything then? That seemed a bit too much and the theft would be spotted right away, where only taking a couple of items could go undetected under the radar…

He was pondering his choice, his eyes scouting the content of the drawer and the office at large for additional items that could ‘interest’ Moran, when something off caught his eye. A book. But not a book that one would normally want at hand. It was some dull thing… purposefully dull? Curiosity picked, Jim snatched the book. It fell open to reveal… oh. Well, that photograph would definitely fit Moran’s ‘dangling’ urges. If he dared. And would make the headmaster weary of seeking out the thief if he noticed the break-in.

Jim shrugged, pocketed all needed items before snatching for himself a couple cigarettes from a confiscated pack (-he’d seen Moran smoke and it’d piqued his curiosity-), unlocked the window for Kendall to think he’d left it open in the morning and not suspect someone had gotten in through the door and left.

\--

"Wait, what?" Sebastian furrowed his eyebrows, looking at the kid somewhat confused. "There's no way you-" And then Jim tossed him a bag and... fuck! How the hell did he do that?! "How the fuck did you do that? I didn't even get the--" Oh. He probably sounded too excited. Well, it _was_ pretty cool, he'd never had expected that from the kid. Didn't want him to think he was some hot shit though, start thinking Moran owed _him_ instead of the other 'way round. He reined back the excitement in his voice, instead clearing his throat and leaning back against the tree trunk, sliding down to sit cross-legged on the ground. "I mean, good initiative. Might just be worth the trouble I went through to try 'n catch your sneaky little ass." 

Sebastian pulled the deck of cards out, fanning the worn deck out in his hand then bridging the deck back together. They were a special set because they were lucky. And because he'd marked them, filed small grooves in the edges that he could feel when he shuffled and dealt. Made it easy to win, even if he didn't quite need it. No one was _that_ good around here and everyone had learned quick that he was too good to play with. His knife next, won from a game of cards from some older kid who'd graduated. A cheap metal butterfly knife, he'd been practicing tricks and had been getting pretty good until the librarian caught him with it and confiscated it. He spun the blade open, twirling it as he pulled out the photograph, turning it over so he could see it. His eyes widened and the knife slipped, slicing the pad of his thumb open. "Fuck!" he cursed, shoving the bloody digit in his mouth, grinning with red teeth. "Christ, you're a bloody natural. The fuck you lettin' Powers fuck with you if you're able to get this kinda shit?" That was bait for sure, he had a collection of dirt on a good number of adults around the school. They'd get on their knees for his father, but his father's interests didn't align with his own and sometimes he needed to keep them from blabbing about something he'd done. 

"Well, obviously you're not completely worthless," He had been half tempted to kick the kid out anyway after getting his shit back. This was _his_ spot, he didn't even like the idea of letting Jim in it. But the kid was helpful and might even be more helpful later. He was quiet too and a bit of a mystery and it gave him something to think about. Sebastian tucked the photo into a book in his bag. "You can hang about just don't be fuckin' annoying. Or invite any friends or girls or anythin', this ain't a fuckin' daycare or a hookup spot. 'Sposed to get _away_ from the idiots here, so if I see anyone else I'll make you wish you'd hung around Powers, got it?" He pulled a ring of keys out of his bag, unlooping one and tossing it at him. "Sure you don't need it if you got into Kendall's stash without one, but I made spares in case they got confiscated, so might as well have one. Don't mean we're _friends_ ," he snapped, suddenly a bit defensive. "But I don't break my word." 

That was the beginning of the weirdest year and half of his life. 

\--

In the end, he and Moran were not running into each other a lot. Jim did not fancy company much and had found a couple of other quiet places to nest. He would only end up in the covert courtyard on a whim, and always through the fence. He had been observing Moran a lot though. He was interesting, and Jim ended up picking a thing or two from the older boy. Not enough for anybody to notice, and anyway he had not the bulk to copycat Moran. But it was the little things that mattered, Jim had noticed, and he’d got just enough from the older boy to have neutral people get the point he’d rather be left alone.

He had also picked up one other, odd, thing. Moran did what he wanted. He was obviously paying the price for it but kept fast on not conforming to expectations or rules. This realization somehow flipped a switch in Jim’s little mind. It twisted a concept he had always tried hard to keep himself anchored to, because he had no other reference to hold on. He did not have to fit society expectations and he could go round it to serve himself if he so wished.

It started with petty thievery. Things that caught his fancy or interest. One day Moran caught him reading a book that was later reported missing on the notice board. He did not point it out and Jim eased a little more around him. Their arrangement continued whenever Moran asked something of him. Once or twice Moran insisted on knowing how he had managed the task, and always had this flabbergasted look when he explained. Jim didn't quite get it because to him it was always so simple. He just looked, and connected the dots… People never seemed to be able to see the patterns.

Powers either had not noticed the shift in Jim's behavior or did not care. He was getting pushier and pushier, bloodying Jim up more often than not nowadays. Powers had nice shoes; Jim had noticed one day as he had been laying down in front of him and he caught himself idly wondering if he could grow into them if given some time. A few days later a magazine had caught his eye. It was some trash press about the near-tragic death of a celebrity after a miss-dosed beauty product. An idea popped in his little methodical mind. And it went on ticking.

Jim did not fight back. He struck. 

A month later Carl Powers died tragically doing the one thing he was supposed to be good at. Nobody noticed the missing shoes. Well, nobody important.


	2. Isochoric Heat Removal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isochoric Heat Removal: Heat is removed from the equation, allowing it to cool, until it is transferred back for another cycle.
> 
> Or:
> 
> They thrive within the boundaries of their tiny world, and Jim discovers a lot of malts and murder. Until Sebastian leaves for the military.

Jim was good at staying quiet and staying the fuck away, which Sebastian was incredibly happy with. He didn't ask questions or pester him or even do much of anything, reading or laying and just being quiet when he was there. He actually started to grow used to the fucker's company, even if Jim had those weirdly blank eyes and Sebastian caught him watching him out of the corner of his eye occasionally. 

After a few weeks, things became comfortable. He wasn't on edge as much with someone in his space and he'd gone back to his normal routine. He'd spend his time in the courtyard reading (the only classes he didn't have to put some effort into were his English courses) or smoking, laying on his back watching clouds drift by. Dozing in the shade of the large tree, practicing his card or knife tricks. It was a horribly peaceful life. The only real bit of excitement came about a few months later; when the Powers kid drowned. _That_ brought some excitement to the school. 

He wasn't surprised to see Jim in the courtyard the day of the memorial service that the school was throwing. A big remembrance day thing in the gymnasium, a tragic life lost too soon. _Real tragic,_ Sebastian had snorted, t _he kid had been a grade-A prick._ Something had steadily changed in the other boy. Jim's demeanor had gotten a bit... unsteady, lately. Sebastian had seen him scare off a few of the not-so-important kids who'd thought they would try to fuck with him. He'd spotted a stolen book and then, later on, a few other things that he knew weren't Jim's. Martha Penry's pearl bracelet had gone missing. He'd seen it in Jim's bag, and then the next week it'd shown up in Kelly's desk, and there had been a fight. It made him proud in an odd way. He wouldn't say he was a mentor because fuck that shit, but hanging around him had obviously flipped some sort of switch in Jim. 

But it wasn't just a sense of pride. There was also a sense of unease. He wasn't afraid of the little kid at all, but he got the feeling that Jim was just biding his time like Sebastian was. Biding his time til what he didn't know, but the kid was clever (some of the things he said he'd done sounded ridiculous, even if they kinda made sense) and quick. Sebastian would almost have been worried if he hadn't been leaving in eleven months, fourteen days. He didn't care much about things anymore. It was just one day at a time. It had to be. 

"Not out mourning your dearly departed friend?" Sebastian rolled his eyes as he entered their courtyard-- no, _his_ , not theirs! He had a chocolate bar in his hand, he'd knicked two of them earlier in the day before he'd come to school. "Should be celebrating, that lot." Sebastian took his regular place against the trunk of the tree, sitting on the grass. He tossed one of the bars at Jim, "Congratulations. Bet you're a happy camper now, huh?" It took him longer than normal to open the bar, his pointer and middle finger were splinted together and they would be for another week at least. The rest of him was doing better; his black eye was faded to a mottled mess of green and yellow and the cut on his cheek was scabbed. He looked like a painter's palate under his clothes, a mix of fresh and old colors but they only hurt when he moved a certain way anymore. 

His father had caught him with Ethan Vanguard, the boy two years older than him and known as a fairy. He only got out of military school because it was a boy's only school and his father didn’t want any poofs. 

**Eleven months, fourteen days.**

"Wonder what it looked like," he mused, biting off the corner of his chocolate. "Don't go to swim meets. Bet he turned all blue. Read they did that when you drown." Sebastian had a morbid curiosity with death. It was a mystery, one he'd never encountered. Books and movies and the telly showed it, talked about it, but it wasn't _real._ He wanted to know what it was like before he shipped off, didn't want to be surprised when he had to kill someone. If he was braver (he'd never admit that) he'd off his father before he left. But it'd make his mum sad 'n... he didn't know how to do it without getting caught. The bad guys always got caught. 

\--

The chocolate bar caught Jim off guard. His eyes widened and he reacted at the very last moment to catch it, only managing an awkward fumble before he had to pick it off the floor, a little dumbfounded and weary. Weary because this was unusual, and he was not quite good with people when they broke their pattern. But apparently Moran was just… having a sharing episode? Jim let him go on with his moment, unwrapping the gift in an empathetic gesture. Besides, he quite enjoyed chocolate.

Moran went on and on, asking him rhetorical questions and keeping on not really expecting an answer from him. Until a strange mood hit him. Jim did not know if Carl’s body went blue (-he had not peeked, it really had not been worth the risk or the trouble-), but he doubted it. It probably would be a temperature-related thing, he reasoned, and people would not have left Carl go on floating in the pool. But this was not what had ensnared Moran thinking, he thought. 

“Death’s cold. Feels like a smooth marble under your fingers.”

The words had tumbled from his lips on their own, without him giving them much of a thought. Moran gave him an odd look, and he realized how he probably sounded. Erm.

“Mum’s died when I was five.” He said clarified shortly, with a dismissive shrug.

Well. He had better leave. He had not exactly meant to get into a conversation here. And certainly not this kind of conversation. 

\--

Wow. Those three sentences were more than he'd gotten in weeks. Someone was certainly chatty today. Although, Sebastian figured, he'd be chatty if his biggest bully died too. Actually... he thought about it... he'd be ecstatic. Jim started to stand, probably keen to leave. Whatever, not like he'd miss his scrawny ass when he left. "I dunno," he said, licking the melted chocolate off his fingers, "I think it'd feel like fire." Hot and bright, snuffing a flame and adding it to your own... 

Sebastian didn't spare Jim a single look as the boy stopped and gave him a look, already digging into his bag for his smokes and a book. He was reading some classics now, recently starting _'The Picture of Dorian Gray'_ , and he had the rest of the afternoon to sit. They'd all be in the memorial anyway. 

It was three weeks before they ran into each other again in the hidden space. Sebastian had spent a _lot_ of time thinking between then and now. Thinking, healing, counting. He'd finished Dorian Gray and moved into murder mystery, spurred by the death of Powers and by the dark themes in the previous book. _'Murder on the Orient Express'_ was his current pick, though he thought _'And Then There Were None'_ was a better story overall. He'd been reading in silence for a while, occasionally grabbing a hard sour candy from his bag or absently switching his position. His favorite was to lay on his back, holding the book above his head to block the sun and provide shade, but he'd often roll or sit up and lean against the tree. 

"Think you'd get away with it?" He asked, mostly musing to himself as he rolled onto his back again. "I don't think I'd do too well. All these murderer types are clever but they all get caught in the end, don't they? If you're gonna get caught, might as well have fun with it, ya know?" Sebastian kept his eyes on the book as he turned the page. "Think you've really gotta nail it down 'n make it worth it." A fresh sweet as he thought, bending a page in his book to mark his place. "But I 'spose lots of murderers don't get caught at all, huh. The ones in the movies and shows 'n stuff do, but I guess lots don't. Prolly have to be careful, make it look like an accident, ya know?" 

Sebastian put his book down, thinking now. "If it were Kendall, I'd make it look like an accident. He's got that bum leg, trip'em down the stairs, maybe." 

\--

“It would be too suspicious…” Jim had mumbled in a self-musing like softness, the world almost faint for Moran to catch.

Killing Kendall would be too obvious after Carl's death. There were only so many odd events that could be passed as ‘accidents’ without someone relevant catching on (-that is, not another kid-). But if one overlooked Moran’s curiosity about death, he probably would be just as satisfied with an ‘early retirement’ of the headmaster. And Jim’s mind started ticking again. He had nothing against Kendall, the old man only made life difficult to kids like Moran who directly challenged his authority. It was nothing personal like it had been for Carl. But it was a problem, a puzzle to tinker with. _Tick, tock_. A living and pulsing challenge to sort.

In a math problem, which was about the only thing he had found some real interest in so far, you carefully picked your threads and wove them, following a logical and enthralling dance. The result was beautiful and satisfying. _This_ on the other hand, was a game. You chose and positioned your domino tiles with caution, and when the time was right, you gave a precise notch to send them tumbling. The concentration and carefulness of the planning, the exhilaration of seeing it come undone… The risk of failure. Jim discovered for the first time something he could get a rush from that was not about saving his own skin from bullies. Seeing Kendall step to his carefully and lovingly crafted tune, according to his exact predictions… It had sent waves of overpowering excitement crashing over him. In the end, it had not been much. A bad fall and a few broken bones, but the man was so close to retirement that he would not be coming back. And it had gone perfectly, no one (-not even Kendall himself-) suspected it had been nothing else than an accident.

The day it was announced, on the morrow, Jim skipped all his classes. The adrenaline high was not coming down and there was no sniffing it. It was like a raving fire setting him alight. The feeling of having done it, and that was the precise point of the game, wasn’t it?

This was how he had come to shipwreck in the courtyard and had spent hours humming to himself a joyful tune. The feeling was new and unbidden, and he hoped it would never leave him.

\--

Kendall fell down the stairs and broke his leg in three places, his right wrist, and fractured his collarbone.

Sebastian didn't even think a thing of it, it had been _weeks_ since he’d offhandedly commented Kendall. Four weeks, in fact, which he was glad of because now it was ten months twenty-one days til he left. He couldn't wait to leave. He’d skipped his classes, with Kendall injured and half the school witnessing the event (in the middle of a passing period!) classes were bound to be pointless. Teachers couldn't stop the gossip and couldn't resist participating too. He snuck out after his first class, eager to get to the courtyard and celebrate. Kendall had been on his arse since he started at the school, first sucking up and expecting great things from the Moran boy, then later on, punishing him for every little infraction and telling his father which meant another punishment when he got home.

Now the bastard was gone for good.

And Jim was- humming? Pleased as punch? A smile and a song? What the _fuck_ was going on around here? The little fuck barely even did anything other than stare unnervingly at Moran or just in general, reading or sitting. He hadn't even looked that pleased with himself when that fucker Powers died, and that kid had been on Jim’s arse since he’d moved here. Whatever, the good mood was infectious; he’d planned on stopping by the courtyard to grab his hidden cig stash (his father had taken to having the help search his room again) and then head into town to celebrate another bully gone.

“You didn't even crack a smile about Powers, but you’re all songs over Kendall?” Sebastian whistled as he entered the courtyard, immediately heading for the rock that covered the hole that hid his pilfered cigs. “Musta _really_ fuckin’ hated him.” He’d gotten into the habit of talking at Jim. It wasn't really _too_ him, more in his direction, the kid answered once in a blue moon so Sebastian knew he was listening at least, not that he gave a fuck. His presence had become as familiar as a bush or a rock in the courtyard, and he was treated as such.

“‘M skivvin’ ’n gonna grab a malt at Denny’s, you’ll come along, my treat. Gotta celebrate somehow and,” Sebastian held up a hand, not even looking in Jim’s directions as he stood and nudged the rock back in place. “Won’t give none of that bullshite you’re thinkin’, reminder that life’s short ’n you never know when you’ll fall down a flight of stairs.” His grin was easy to read in his voice. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and that Sterling bitch’ll have somethin’ in her lab go tits up and get outta here too.” Bitch was always on him about _something_ , his attitude mostly.

\--

Moran’s familiarity overthrew Jim slightly. The older boy… Manhandled him? But in a kind of playful if firm way. It got Jim’s curiosity and he followed through. They had treats and Moran did pay for him, which Jim was grateful for because he had not a ringing coin in his pocket. Jim discovered three things this day: (a)he had a raving sweet tooth, (b)you could get high on a liberal amount of sugar and (c)he loved stocking praises. Sure, Moran did not know he was praising Jim's work by going again and again at ‘ _How fuckin’ happy he was that Kendall kicked the metaphoric bucket’_ , but it went straight to Jim’s little heart. And steadily growing ego. And Moran went on and on talking. He talked about how great it would be to be rid of Sterling. Jim realized he rather liked to hear Moran talking. And his little mind started ticking.

**Tic, tic, tic.**

Sterling would be replaced until the end of the year. Rumors had it she would be in the hospital for a couple of weeks, but the grafted skin and tissues on her face and neck would take a while to heal. Jim had found this one very interesting. Up until now, he had had no love for chemistry, finding it a rather chaotic mess more akin to lucky cooking than actual science and logic. But as things stood, you could cook interesting things with a little effort. He had not used much of what he had learned but well. Bound to be of use one day. He was quite proud of himself on this one though. He had slightly torn the already old gas output of the benzene flame on the teacher's desk. Since the older class had been doing a practical session, no one had picked on the additional odor. At the end of the session, Sterling had demonstrated (like every year) metallic sodium reactivity to the class, which means… there would be a small explosion on her desk. With the gas leak, it turned into a rather larger one.

Thankfully, practical classrooms were designed with a large enough gap between the teacher’s and the student desks (-for precisely this kind of demonstrations-) and no student got hurt. The school board started an angry strife on the school apparent decrepitude that would go on and on without any real actions being undertaken. That's life for you, and it suited Jim just fine. 

That day, Jim had not only taken refuge in the courtyard to rid the excitement away from potential suspicious gazes. No, today he also was waiting for Moran, eager and hungry to see his reaction. 

Besides, he really wanted to try coffee again.

\--

Sebastian was pretty sure there was something fundamentally wrong with him that he was _disappointed_ not to get to see the explosion in Sterling's lab. Shame about her face, she was definitely leaving MILF territory age-wise but he was pretty sure those red lips had caused a lot of boys to fall in love. The 'accident' had happened during the second class of the day; the students in the class had been sent home to 'deal with their trauma', the school buzzing with information. Sebastian hadn't even been bothered at all, he was in a good mood because his Father was headed back to their estate in India to deal with work for a week and the thing with Sterling really just was adding icing to the cake. He even decided to actually attend his third class, which is what ended up being the spark that led to... well, everything else. 

Stephanie and Dougie were chattering behind him; they were waiting for class to start because the teachers had an impromptu meeting in their lounge about what to tell the students. He wasn't even listening in on them, but when the words 'haunted' and 'cursed' hit his ears and Moran was a fan of anything that was spooky or went bump in the night, so he keyed in and tried not to act like he was listening. There were rumors going around. Powers had been a freak accident, the headmaster too... now Sterling? The students were making their own ghost stories, Stephanie and Dougie comparing and swapping what they heard. Demons, the school built on old burial grounds... Nonsense, really. 

A vengeful spirit.

Also nonsense, what kind of ghost would have issues with a kid, a headmaster, and a chemistry teacher? Fuck, if anything, he'd have thought maybe Jim was a ghost (fucker was pale and unemotional most days, though Sebastian thought he _might_ be opening up?). That'd be a story; Jim a ghostie he'd been hanging out with, slowly plotting the murder and attacks. 

The murder of Carl Powers, who'd tormented him. 

The headmaster's accident, soon after Sebastian had talked to him about murder, making things look like accidents...

The last one hit him like a lightning bolt, chills down his spine. 

The casual comment about Sterling's lab. 

No way. 

There was no _bloody_ way. 

He was a kid for christ's sake! Younger than him!

_(But Powers had tormented him for ages..., the clever bit in his head protested)_ but why the headmaster?! Sterling?! 

_(You brought it up! He was_ **_bored!_ ** _You've been bored too.)_ Jesus fuck! Would he kill again? Maim? Who would he go after next? Was Moran himself a target? Was Powers the first? God, the humming and glee afterward... He'd _liked_ it. A hundred thousand things rushing through his head and it wasn't til class ended that he realized... 

He'd never even _considered_ turning him in. 

No, instead, he was... christ, he was curious. Why'd he done the other two? For him? Because he'd said something and planted the idea? How'd he get Powers to drown? The accident with the Headmaster? Sterling's lab? Sebastian knew he was clever, but... _that_ was impressively clever. Impressively, magnificently clever. How long had he planned it? Had he been afraid? Worried he'd be caught? What did it _feel_ like, taking a life, ruining others? Would he do it again? To who? How? 

And, perhaps the worst and darkest and at the same time most tempting question...

Could he help? 

He was going to go to the military, for saint's sakes. He'd be a killer one day anyway, really, wouldn't it be smarter to get the supposed shock of death over now, rather than freezing if he's ever in the line of fire? 

Jim's humming again. Pleased as a pickle. Sebastian brings him to town again, tells him he's taking advantage of the chaos for another malt (kid had downed his like it was the only water in a desert), his treat. He wasn't sure if he was being smart, he could be wrong and Jim'd prolly think he was a loon and a psycho, but his reputation wasn't very good anyway so who gave a fuck? They get their treats, retreating to an out of sight area. Public, but still, two kids on a school day, middle of the early afternoon? Pass on that trouble. He waits til Jim takes a long drink of his, that little curved lip and those eyes that are strangely expressive yet can be so empty, lizard-like in their appearance... 

A deep breath, now or never. "You killed Powers, didn't ya?" They're on a bench, a small park, people passing by across the street. Not really a question, he says it like a fact, talking the same 'at, not with' way he's always done, watching the people across the road. "Kendall. Sterling, too. How'd you do it?" He's looking at him now, sharp blue eyes curious and unafraid. Dying to know, the same demanding attitude from when he'd tell him Jim explain how he got the things he got, or did the things he asked. 

\--

Oh. Panic flared for half a second in Jim’s mind before he blanketed it snugly. He had been careful, and Moran suspicions were only from their personal interactions. Nobody else would suspect him. The easing of his fright left room for another blooming feeling to claim him.

He ought to have seen it coming. The last domino tile. One he had not realized he had positioned but that was the culmination of this little game. A playmate?

“No.” He stated. But his voice tone said ‘yes’. “It was an accident, right? Everybody knows it.” He added in a - manner of fact- way. 

His feet kicked the air in an unconscious balancing movement, his legs too short to reach the cobble. Or was it calculated? Sometimes he just picked things up from the others and did the same. This tended to make him look childish and endearing to adults. They would go easier on him or give him treats if he was in luck.

\--

Sebastian was pretty sure a normal person wouldn't have reacted with such casual indifference. He was pretty sure a normal person would have been shocked. A normal person wouldn't have kicked their feet, looking young and sweet and innocent. To be fair, a normal person would have taken their suspicions to a teacher or the police. A normal person wouldn't have confronted a murderer who had already proved himself capable of getting rid of people in ways that were so cleverly done and hidden. 

Accidents, indeed. 

"Yeah," Sebastian shrugged noncommittally, turning his gaze back to the street. It was past lunch, the road growing less crowded, people disappearing back into their office buildings. "Guess you're right. Little shite like you, no way you'd be able to do something like that." He took a long drink of his malt, silence settling over them like a down blanket. 

"Shame though." He said after a while, his tone casual and cool, blue eyes flicking back over to his smaller companion, watching and judging his reactions. "'Cuz that'd pass the time pretty damn well, I'd think. All that plottin' and plannin' and thinkin'. Be interestin'. Be a bit of fun." Jim had denied it, but his denial sounded weak and more like an admittance. "Plenty of arseholes who deserve it." Sebastian had made a list, thinking and wondering. Yeah, he was biased towards it, but still. There _were_ some people on there that shouldn't be around anymore. "Custodian O'Neil, for example. I pay'em in cash for keys 'n access places 'n shit, but he makes it clear he accepts other things." And Sebastian wouldn't really mind that, it'd crossed his mind once or twice when a price was a bit high, but he was older than his father and a fuckin' creep about it. "Doubt he'll be 'round much longer anyway, got heart problems and takes a shiteload of meds for'em." The offer was casual and disguised, subtle. 'Have anyone in mind?' and, 'Do you want help?' 

\--

Jim just sipped his treat silently, considering the other boy’s words. It had flared something unpleasant when he'd berated him, but then he’d gone down a more interesting line. O’Neil. Jim knew his office but had not seen much of the man. From what little he’d got Moran was probably saying the truth. Not that Jim cared much about it. It was something about it not being morally right but he was still figuring out what _moral_ encompassed. It seemed like an awfully shifting concept that depended a lot on whom you were talking too.

The magic thing that held it together was that, by some remarkable occurence, everyone seemed to think everybody else had the same definition of morality. Really interesting. And confusing.

“That would make for an awful lot of accidents at our school. People would start thinking.” He finally answered.

On the one hand, he wanted to play, and Moran was as good a playmate as he could hope for. He’d been alone a lot and even if they did not have the same turn of mind, Moran was different like him. He liked him. He wanted to have fun and perhaps bask in praises. But on the other hand, he did not want to get caught, and there was only so much obvious thing you could dangle in front of people's eyes without them noticing. Not getting caught was part of the game after all.

Perhaps if he waited a little? Got the event dissociated from school?

“Holidays…” he murmured to himself, shunted out in his own little bubble. His own little universe of slotting pieces and dangling threads.

\--

It was fun. He should probably feel bad about that, that he had fun playing with the strings of people's lives. Maybe that was when his moral compass started to erode, or maybe it'd never developed quite right all. All he knew was that he was having fun and that Jim was _much_ more interesting than he appeared. O'Neil sadly passed away in a hospital three weeks after a long and painful struggle with repeated minor strokes following a major ischemic stroke. They'd worked 'together' on that one, if you could call it that. Sebastian knew that O'Neil got his heart medication from the same drugstore every third Friday of the month, because he'd run into him there a few times. After the medication was tampered with (all Jim) it was easy to wait. Part of the fun came from the uncertainty of when the sugar pills would take their toll, when his high blood pressure would crack. They'd planned it (mostly Jim, but Sebastian enjoyed making him explain his reasoning, and on occasion had a line of insight the other boy didn't catch) for a while, waiting for the two-week break that would be coming up in a few months.

O'Neil had a stroke four days before break ended and wasn't found on his kitchen floor until half a day later. By then, his brain had enough damage that even if he did recover, he'd never be the same person. 

It was very, very exhilarating to hear the news ripple through the school. They'd gone for malts. 

Sebastian had never had so much fun in his _life_. There was a sort of desire to see how far they could go, though they were careful and moved away from the school, choosing their new targets with care to make sure they didn't link back to either of them. In the end, he kinda wished time passed a bit slower, honestly. He'd never had anything this close to a friend before, even if he wasn't quite sure where Jim stood on the same thought. Never voiced it though, he wasn't that pathetic and he really didn't need friends, or anyone really. He wondered if Jim would miss him when he was gone. He didn't really think anyone would, honestly. His father'd be pissed that he didn't have a kid to send to Oxford, there'd always been a Moran at Oxford every generation. His mum? She'd never quite been there to begin with, not since he was seven or eight, stuck in her head or not thinking straight. The tutors and the servants were paid to deal with him. The school teachers were more glad when he wasn't in class. 

He turned sixteen October 19th, there wasn't anything special happening at his house. Sebastian had packed a bag and hidden it in the wooded area around the estate weeks ago, scrounged and scraped and pilfered every pinch of money he could get away with. If Jim noticed his anxious energy the two weeks before he'd left, he never said a word. He crept out of his room twelve minutes to midnight and other than the woods, the only stop he made was to swing by the school. He crept into the courtyard, a thief in the night. He'd scrapped and rewritten the note a hundred times over. No one else got one, but... Jim, something about Jim made him feel he needed to leave one. The kid was interesting and fun and a kinda friend and... well, at least this way maybe someone would miss him. Or be excited for him. He wasn't sure which he wanted. He'd torn up page after page, written letters and written single sentences. Eventually, all he'd managed to come up with was something short and honest and sweet. 

_'Don't have too much fun without me.'_

It took two days for the servants and his father to notice he was gone. He'd gotten into the habit of getting up extra early and leaving before breakfast, half the time never even meeting anyone on his way out the door. He skivved enough school that they didn't think to call his house until two days had passed. It was almost sad, really, how little a disturbance his disappearance caused. He wondered what his dad would say. By the time he was tracked down, he'd been enlisted for two weeks and there wasn't taking any of that back. 

Sebastian Moran didn't step foot in that town until he was twenty years old, only then because his mother died.


	3. Isothermal Heat Removal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isothermal heat removal: In this stage the temperature is kept constant in every point. As the volume is reduced, pressure builds and energy is removed from the system.
> 
> Or:  
> Sebastian returns for a funeral, the boys cause another, and things escalate.

The day Moran left, he had left him a note. One sentence, pinned to a tree in their courtyard. Jim had flipped the paper, not really expecting anything on the back, and was still surprised by the sinking feeling that hit him when it came out blank. He had crumpled the note and dug up a couple lone cigarettes left from the older boy’s orphaned stash.

He pulled on his smoke. It had been five years ago. With Moran gone, he had recessed a bit onto himself. The game itself turned boring and easy in his little town, and he soon found out there was not much fun to be had without an enthusiastic audience. He had turned to mathematics, showing just the right amount of talent to secure a good uni scholarship. An inconspicuous, comfortable ticket to properly leave this damn place. Mathematics were nice. The numbers, the smooth logic, were soothing. The only boundaries of the challenge are his own mind. He looked forward to the day he would be in the position to expose his ideas and results without being dismissed as being just a child. Doing mathematics all day… That would be nice. At least, he tried to convince himself so when the pressure of the world was choking him down and his twisted mind convulsed in the shadows.

His days were a cleaved nightmare, in-between drifting gently over the clouds and the violent rushes of emotions he could barely keep down and contain. But he managed. In every respect. He had grown a better façade now and was not, to most people's eyes, a shy and reserved boy anymore. He was bright, nice, and clever Jim. A lot of people liked Jim. He was going places. Until something broke the balance.

The elder Moran’s wife died. Jim thought Moran would show up. 

He’d kept watch on the mourning crowd, from a nook in the upper part of the church. And really, Moran was not hard to spot in the crowd. He had bulked up, making good on genetics’ promise even as military training evidently had had a good part in it. He looked good, a few scars visible, but no impending injuries. Jim noticed he favored his left side slightly, perhaps a recent blow to the right he was unconsciously compensating for… The old man better not mess with him now or it would go _veerryyy_ badly for him.

Seeing him after all these years, Jim felt odd. A choking feeling bloomed from the pit of his stomach and fought his way up his throat. An irate fire he had not noticed he’d snuffed out all these years ago. It almost came up to his eyes, a burning, wet sensation welling there. Moran had gone, abandoned him. Left him to fend for himself among the _others_. And he wanted to hurt him as much as he just wanted to hear him go on his endless self-chattering again.

In the end, he went for option (b), reasoning he could always flip back to (a) if the older boy ended up being a disappointment. Would help him right for messing with his head like that. Picking a fresh cigarette from the pack, he crawled down from his nest and went out, positioning himself casually outside the church. Not too obvious so as not to make people curious, but sufficiently visible that Moran would spot him if his awareness and brain had not been destroyed by too many hammered orders.

He let a nervous tongue run and wet his lips, before lighting the cigarette to keep himself busy as people started slowly to trickle out of the office.

\--

Lady Helena Cynthia Moran died from health complications that had arisen more than twenty years ago, some from before Sebastian was born, some from when he was born, and some from after. She'd always been an incredibly thin, frail-looking willow-stick of a woman; they'd tried for multiple children and only Sebastian had made it past the first two months outside of the womb. She was tall and wispy, pale blonde hair that curled around her head, flinty grey eyes. His mum was nice, nicer than his Father, but she had gotten lost in her head when he was young and never quite came out of it fully. When she wasn't bedridden, she'd wander around the Moran home like a living ghost, dressed in a nightgown and a dressing robe, muttering dreamily to herself. When she was lucid, she was often in the gardens or at her piano and as he grew those days became rarer and rarer. 

In the end, he had been expecting her death for many, many years. It was certainly odd, he knew that much, to not really think of his mum as his mum, but... he'd never really known her, despite her presence in the house. The small ache in his chest when he got the news (a letter, transcribed by his Father's secretary, mailed and delivered during mess) wasn't because he was sad at the fact she was gone or that she had died, but rather because her death had sealed off any possibilities of actually having a relationship with her. He'd given up on his father long ago, when he was ten and finally entered the proper age to start getting groomed for proper heir-ship. 

He got a week of bereavement leave. He knew, in the end, that he'd end up with at _least_ two. Likely three, but he'd be letting the solicitors deal with the main problems when they came up and prolly go back early, or at least take the time to do everything he _wasn't_ allowed to do on base, or when he was shipped off. 

The funeral was basic and unassuming and people cried. Relatives he hadn't seen in years, even before he'd run off, came up to him and offered condolences and hoped his grief would heal. He wasn't grieving, so there wasn't anything to heal, except for the stupid fucking shrapnel and gunpowder burn on his goddamn right side from a misfire that'd cost the man to the right of him in a raid his hand. He wasn't set to be sent on leave and it'd been minor because the dumbass at thankfully been out of position. It was healing nicely, a bit of a silver-blue scar from the powder on the shallow spots, the deeper bits mostly healed over but still irritated by his dress blacks. He didn't have a suit or a place to store one, so he'd gone with those. 

Sebastian wasn't staying at the house, he'd picked up a room in town because like fuck he'd go back home. At least, not until later that evening, under the cover of night. He'd worn his medals too; because his Father had said that if he was going to embarrass the family by running off to blow shit up in the mud, then he could at _least_ show off the tinny bits of metal he'd gotten. A Victoria Cross for the 'extreme devotion to duty in the presence of an enemy' (he'd provided sniper cover for the full duration of a border skirmish that lasted 35 hours, and killed 28 enemy soldiers), a few bars, a few stars. Christ, it could all be melted down and turned into a lighter for all he cared. He'd been there for five years and planned on staying 'til he died, but he wasn't there for the medals. 

There was going to be a wake after the funeral, a few hours later at the house. He'd already decided he wasn't going, dealing with the tears and simpering idiots he'd been around so far made him miss the goddamn terrorists. At least they just _shot_ at him and didn't want to fucking _touch_ and _hug_ him. But he kept a placid, easy, thankful and sad look on his face. He'd gotten better at looking like he cared, acting like he didn't want to break someone's arm. But five years of getting yelled at does that to you. 

The best part about being in the mourning party at a funeral is that everyone let you leave first. He was in the first wave to file out, sharp eyes automatically scanning the surroundings even without thinking, registering anything that might be a threat. Pale skin, dark hair, a wisp of smoke and the glow of embers. Oh. _Jim_. 

It was like a punch to the sternum; he hadn't expected to see the kid (not a kid now, but not really a man either) on this trip, let alone see him here. He'd thought of him, occasionally. Well. More than occasionally, at the start. Less and less as time went on, as he made mates in foxholes and enemies and kept busy. He still wondered, every now and then. After his 'first' kill, laying on his bunk. Wondering if this is what Jim had felt. That excitement, that charge, that rush of adrenaline? Sebastian had been right; death was hot and it was fire and it was quick. Like a match it flared and then was gone, making you want to light more and more to see that flame. He wondered if the kid was okay. If he'd continued, if he'd quit. 

And there he was. Jim was older _(duh)_ . He was still thin and still short but he'd gotten a bit of the natural bulk of age, less dangly kid limbs and more confidence. He'd started smoking, too. Sebastian wondered if those dark eyes were still like coal dissolved in saltwater. Sebastian parted from the herd because Jim obviously didn't give a shit about his mother and he'd barely thought the kid gave a shit about him, so the fact that he was here was so damn interesting. He walked over to him _(goddamn was that height difference even more prominent now),_ pulling his pack of cigs out. Well, beedis, actually. Cheaper and easier to get in the sandbox than cigs and unlike any of the other guys and gals he was with, he didn't have anyone sending him care packages. 

He pulled one of the cheap, handmade leaf-wrapped tobacco cigs from the pouch, shoving the rest back into his pocket. With a casualness that suggested they'd seen each other only days ago and not years, he leaned in close, lighting the end of cig with Jim's. Sebastian leaned back against the wall, exhaling a cloud of richly scented smoke through his nose. "Here to offer your condolences?" He asked, looking straight ahead. His eyes flicked to the side, giving Jim a glance and the corner of his mouth crooked up in a smile that was familiar but much better looking on his older face. "Or are we getting malts and I'm gonna ask you how you did it?" A throwback to how they had a small tradition. After every... 'game', they'd get malts _(his treat)_ and he'd sit and demand every detail that he didn't know. The implication was obvious and teasing; implying that he thought Jim was still killing and teasingly asking if he'd killed his mum _(as cold as it made him, he didn't think he'd care either way)._

\--

Moran had recognized and acknowledged him. A tension that he’d not noticed building eased. And the easy-going banter followed. A playful, metaphorical, clasp on the back. Jim could almost not help the smile that stretched his lips as he took another drag of his smoke. It was coming to him so easily now.

“Still a bastard I see. I’m only half surprised the army has not succeeded in getting this big mouth of yours to shut.”

A man spotted them and made his way over. A dark shadow fell over Jim’s face as he registered who it was. Physics teacher. The guy loved him. Bother.

“For fuck’s sake…” he muttered under his breath.

In a second the shadow was hushed under his best – smart and friendly student – face and he was ready for the performance.

“Mr. Moran,” the man stated, addressing him first out of decorum, “let me express my heartfelt condolences for your mother’s passing. She was a sweet woman even though I knew her very little.”

Moran hardly acknowledged him, but it did not hinder his proceeding.

“I had no idea Mr. Moore and yourself knew each other!” He continued on a tad more cheerful tone, gesturing toward Jim. 

“Sebastian and I know each other from middle school, sir.” Jim answered, smooth and proper. “I just dropped by to catch a word.”

“Of course, of course. I just wanted to catch the opportunity to congratulate you on your secured scholarship, Mr. Moore. You deserve it and I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you, professor.”

Finally getting the hint he was intruding on a conversation he was not welcomed in, the man took his leave. Jim gave a weary sigh and let his posture go. He was far from the worst of them really. He had just been one of the teachers that he’d had to show a bit of his intellect too, and that got him an over-enthusiastic interest. Well. Whatever was necessary.

\--

"You missed my big mouth." Sebastian slid that sad, wounded puppy look back on his face as the stranger approached. It was a good disguise, if he hadn't had that little twinkle of glee in his eyes when the teacher started talking to Jim. He waited until the man left before snorting. Jesus, Jim had gotten a hundred times better at pretending to be a normal human being. Yeah, Sebastian could still see that weird 11-year-old in him, but apparently, no one else did. He didn't blame them though, the kid _was_ a good actor. Always had been. 

"I'll be here for a week, tossed me bereavement leave. Well," His eyes flicked towards the crowd, his father standing tall and proud, not a tear in his cool blue eyes. "Likely two or three, actually. Gonna have to manage some issues with the estate before I'm shipped back." The meaning was obvious enough. 

He wondered if Jim would... what, want to stay in touch? Hang out? That's what friends did, right? What did conspirators and playmates in murder do? Swap postcards and evidence baggies? "Is Donny's still open? We should grab a malt. My treat, obviously." He rolled his eyes, "Lots to catch up on. Tell me what brought this social butterfly change on, cuz the rest of you hasn't changed much." Sebastian raised a hand, playfully ruffling the dark hair, a teasing remark of how little Jim had grown outwardly. 

\--

Again. Something about Moran both racked his nerves raw and needled his interest. It was like a spring uncoiling that was just bound to come back. 

“I think that if we’d not met years ago, you’d have rocketed to the top of the list right away.” He mused. Not that he really had a list those days. 

He paused before flipping the subject. “I’ve rather given up on milk, not doing me any good.” He grimaced. “But there’s a pub and the bartenders always forget to check my ID.” And from his tone, it was clear said bartender probably had an interest in doing so.

“It’s been awfully boring round here. It was just little me, and _them_. Nothing much to do.” He crushed his cigarette stub on the pavement and showed the way towards their alcoholic heaven. “I’m not sure I forgive you for leaving me with the boring people you know?” He added with a bit of barb.

They had a pint, which was quite enough for Jim to get tipsy on. Then another. Jim was feeling happy for the first time in ages. It was not just the alcohol, nonono, he knew the effects well by now. It was Moran. Getting to be around the only one who saw him without a mask and did not reject him. He knew it was stupid and childish, bordering on moronic. But Moran felt like home somehow. It was not until he’d drained the last few drops of his pint that he leaned across the table, almost deboned, and asked with excited hunger in his voice.

“About the estate... Need any help with the paperwork?”

\--

It was easy how they fell back into old habits, though things had obviously changed. Jim was more vocal, more expressive. He had no qualms about snorting or rolling his eyes or calling Sebastian a moron or a bastard. Sebastian didn't dominate their conversations anymore, he was curious and wanted to know about Jim... What he was doing, if he'd made any 'friends'. If he'd been replaced. Which, judging by his sharp barb about being left alone, he hadn't. Hadn't 'played' much, if any, since he'd left either, from what he got out of their talk. 

Sebastian talked about his time overseas. Mentioned his 'first' kill, when they'd raided a confirmed extremist's house in a tiny village. The man had held a knife to his daughter's throat, the girl barely even old enough to understand what was going on. The screaming, the heat, the light filtering through shaded curtains and making the dust in the air dance and sparkle. The splatter of rich red when he'd taken the shot despite the hostage. The way his squadron slapped him on the back and ruffled his hair and knocked his helmet, calling him rookie and new guy and laughing and celebrating. He'd told Jim that he was wrong, from when they were kids. Death wasn't cool, it was hot and warm. 

He was pleasantly buzzed, the two pints mellowing him and just enough to keep his tongue wagging. He liked his squadron, he liked his mates. He was well-liked in return, quick with a joke or a smile. The problem was... well, he meshed with them and they had jokes. But they never quite got him like Jim had, in his still silence. Jim leaned across the table, his smile teasing and hungry. He didn't even _know_ what Moran's plan was, but he was eager to join. He really _had_ been bored. It made him a bit sad, knowing he'd left the kid behind, but... Jim had been a surprise. He'd been planning to leave for years, he wasn't staying just because he'd found a kinda equal. "'Course you can help." His head tilted, his words a bit of a challenge. "Gonna be a bit of a mess, though." 

Jim only grinned wider and Sebastian slapped a few bills on the table to cover their drinks before grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of the pub, leading them back to his hotel room so he could change out of his dress blacks. His style hadn't changed much, not that Jim really ever got to see him out of their school uniform as a kid. Dark jeans, a plain tee, his army jacket. His service pistol tucked into his shoulder holster, he flashed Jim a cheeky grin and they headed over his family's house. 

"It's a damn shame," He commented, leading them around to the back of the house. The servant's entrance was locked but they always kept a spare key hidden and they hadn't moved it from the last spot it had been hidden years ago. "No one woulda suspected him of suicide, but with his kid gone and his wife dead... well, ol' man just couldn't take the broken heart." Sebastian mimed a tear falling and rolled his eyes as they entered into the kitchen.

\--

The mansion was old, but furnished with practical if elegant designs. It was funny to see this kind of house actually inhabited and not turned into a crawling space for wandering tourists. Jim just took in every single detail as they wormed their way to the beating heart of the place.

With the definite intension to stop it in a great dramatic showdown.

Moran had explained his plan to him. It was messier than what they’d done in the past, and relying a lot on people being morons. So, things would probably be just fine in the end. Besides Moran deserved to make this as messy as he wished. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity and Jim could understand making the most out of it.

Moran had a visceral attachment and hatred toward his father, something Jim did not quite understand himself. His father was... A wandering doll? It was talking and acting all right, even doing better on staying sober for a couple of years now. But they had never bonded at any level, be it affection or hatred or – god forbid – intellectual. He just... Was his genitor and holding some paperwork rights over him right now.

He could not pretend to get what drove and fuelled Moran, but he knew it was fun to watch. It blew on some smothered amber in his soul that had been kept under a thick slab of cinder for so long. It felt _good_.

So, he’d just thrown some advice, about – of course - not getting drenched in blood, but also not disturb the splatter so it’d look natural and such. And then he shut his mouth, all too happy to just play audience to the death of the man who’d raised the very weapon that was going to kill him.

You could say he really committed suicide in the end. A very carefully crafted 20-year long suicide.

\--

Sebastian grinned, the advice Jim gave was a bit of a sweet gesture, even if the not-getting-drenched-in-blood was obvious. The splatter one though, that was good advice. He wouldn't have thought of that. Really, this isn't how he wanted to kill the man. It was too good for him. He wanted to scare him, let him loose in the house. Chase him down, pin him down. Snap the delicate bones in his fingers and toes, pulling the nails from his hands and feet. He'd raided a few terrorist camps by now. He knew what torture looked like, interrogation. He wasn't part of the groups that dealt with that, getting the information out. Wasn't high enough yet. But he could get practice in, couldn't he? He'd thought about it. A surgeon's needle jabbed in a bundle of nerves could make a man dance, he'd seen that. He wanted to return every single blow, every punishment he'd been given. But he couldn't, because that wasn't smart and he didn't want to get caught. Not when he had so much coming towards him now. 

Not when he'd run into Jim again, those dark eyes hungry like a wolf's.

"Hey, father." He's got a crooked smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He nabbed his father's service pistol out of the safe on their way there, the old man never changing the code was ridiculous. 

Augustus Moran is sitting at his desk (perfect) when Sebastian comes in, and his mouth narrows into a line and his eyes a steady, disapproving stare. "The wayward child returns at last. Do you know how many questions I had to field at the wake? 'Where is Sebastian, where is your boy, Augustus?' Yes," He snapped, "Where _was_ Sebastian?" 

They're both in the room now and Lord Moran's eyes flicker to Jim, his distaste at his company and his annoyance at not knowing he was in 'public' evident. "Sorry, was getting drinks with a friend." 

"You don't _have_ any friends!" 

"Yeah, but 'accomplice to murder's a bit too long, ya know?" The words barely registered on his father's face before Sebastian pulls the gun out and pulls the trigger, the sound loud and familiar to him in the large space of the study. The spray is almost artful, splashing against the large bay window. Sebastian's quick to wipe down the gun, neatly placing it in his father's hand. "Not _exactly_ what I'd been planning all those years, but hey. You live with what you get," he shrugged, tugging a piece of expensive paper and one of his father's fountain pens his way, moving to a chair and propping his feet up as he writes. He'd mastered forgery of his father's handwriting ages ago, it'd helped before the school caught on and started calling. 

"Looks like I'll be in town for a bit longer, managing affairs. Not that there's much to manage, really. Selling it all off." His eyes flicked up, watching Jim for a moment before he works on the suicide note more. Despite being in his twenties, his age shows when he talks, the slight uncertainty. "If you wanna hang out or anything, lemme know. I don't know when I'll be back. Got accepted into special forces, just gotta pass all that bullshit to make it in. I'll be living out of my kit when I get in, so not much leave there... Figured you deserved more notice than a note this time." 

\--

Moran is talking but... It’s like everything got turned off. _Something_ boiled from the end of his spin and up to his core, wracking his whole frame. He gave a gasp and registered feverishly his hands were shaking beyond his control. His usually so tight and well-crafted control.

It had been... Ineffable. The man had not expected the blow that was coming for him. This perfect moment of dreaded realization in the eyes of Moran’s father, when he'd recognized the glaring end of death. In this precise moment, Jim had found someone who _understood_ and saw like he was seeing. A fraction of second of glaring clarity in a life spent as a blind fool.

He was exhilarated. He wanted to laugh and shout and spin, taking the world with him to the sweet and thundering lullaby that was singing to its heart. It whispered secrets, that he was, in fact, not different. But that every ticking moment of his life was just death groping and clawing for him. He had been living this suspended moment since the moment existed to him. The realization was giving him wings, and he’d gleefully tear them bloody to fall faster to the sweet embrace of his end.

He felt like he waltzed on top of a wind to reach Moran, and closed upon him like a bird of ill omen. 

“Death is cold Moran, the fire is your own heart thrumming madly to deny it.” He sang with a delighted lilt.

And if his grin had the wide manic look of a Cheshire cat, and his pupils were blown like said cat had taken his load in catnip, who was going to call him on it?

\--

Sebastian looked up when he realizes Jim hasn't responded, seeing the wide blown look in his eyes, dark and full of fire. He looked like he'd been shocked with a car battery, or like he'd lost his fucking mind. Was that the first time he'd seen someone die who knew they were going to? Or maybe he'd just cracked? Whatever it was, the mad sing-song voice sent shivers down his spine and that wide, toothy grin sent a hot lick of flame glowing in his gut. 

Jesus **_fuck._ **

Jim Moore was _insane_. He'd known that, yeah, but like... He was proper nuts now. Or at least, he'd lost that control that he'd been propping himself up with the entire time. Whatever it was, it was equal parts terrifying and... fuck, it was something else entirely. Like watching a fire roar, or a pack of big cats rip an antelope to shreds. It was raw and animalistic and Sebastian wanted to feel what he felt, and wanted to run far far away. Christ, why didn't he feel that way after this was over? Was it before he had grown immune to it? Did Jim see something he didn't? What the younger man tell him, show him whatever it was that drove him mad? 

It made his heart beat loud and fast and he could almost feel the flames flick under his skin. Why, in this moment, does he feel like they're standing on fragile glass? Like if he says the wrong thing, something will shatter and Jim will tumble away into the dark? "'Death,'" he quotes softly, setting the note and pen aside, "'is nothing. What's terrible is not to live.' I think, Jim," He looked up at Jim, leaning over him, grinning madly. "that you're most alive when you extinguish someone else's flame." Sebastian reaches a hand up, tugging at Jim's wrist. 

"I'd like to feel what you feel." Leaning over him like that, it's easy to stand and tug the teenager to him, easy to press his lips against Jim's. Impulsively, horribly easy. He wants to taste that madness, feel it thrum in his bones, and he tries to draw it out and steal it for himself. What is it that Jim feels? Why can't _he_ have it too?

\--

Jim felt lips crash against his own and god, Moran was on **FIRE.** Moran, that was one of **THEM** but did not **BELONG** with them. The one to _see_ him and not recoil like the old man had, faced with his death. In his maniacal frenzy, Jim just wanted to steal him to his side, grasp his hand and waist and twirl him to the sweet, _sweeeet_ tune that was puppeteering his rotting corpse. Moran, Moran, _Moran..._ He wanted to crawl his burning skin and tear him to bits. Rip the living flesh from his bones and show him, show him what Jim saw. The void, gazing and hungry for you.

He lunged and gave everything he had in a blurry haze of eagerness. He was going down now, and wanted to drag Moran with him in the abyss. His throat got raw from the raving giggling that had taken possession of him. He’s pretty sure he’s tried to rip Moran’s throat open a couple times, and choke him too; but he is too strong, still thrumming with fire by the time darkness claws Jim mind and claims him.

It’s very early morning when Jim comes back to himself. He feels dead to the world, like his limbs are weighted down in lead. Everything is very muffled, and snippets of the previous evening start to trickle in. His eyes widen as the realization hits him about the same second his senses finally decide to switch on and he registers there is _someone_ lying next to him. Then the pain. He just stays frozen still and studies the situation. Somehow Moran must have managed to take them out the mansion, of which he is ever so grateful. There would have been no smooth-talking his way out of it, whatever clever lies he could spin. Moran was now sleeping on the other half of the hotel bed, clothes ripped and covered in bruises and blood and bit marks. _Real_ deep bit marks.

Jim carefully extracted himself from the sheets, weary not to wake the other. He’d truly lost it last night. Just the souvenir of it... Was enough to send his head spinning. He had realized early on he was not _sane_ by the commoner's standard, but he’d managed pretty well. Yesterday had been way too fucking close. He walked up to the window and was happy to see they were on the ground floor. They’d gotten in this way too last night, by the look of it. Clever Moran.

Jim needed air. And a cigarette.

Because in the end, he was not either an idealist or an optimist of any sort. Whatever sweet words the abyss sang in your ear, it was just vapid nothingness. This world had nothing to give him, and there were no reasons death would be any better of a deal.


	4. Isochoric Heat Addition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isochoric Heat Addition: The size of the system is constrained as tension boils up.
> 
> Or,
> 
> Sebastian returns from the war. Luckily Jim has an empty floor.  
> Not that he gets much of a choice.

It took everything in him to get them back to the hotel and to not just drag Jim to a room on the estate. He's glad he did, because that would be hell to explain... and when he finally wakes up, sometime around noon if the sun shining through the curtains is any hint, he's sore and aches and feels like he went five rounds with a goddamn bear. Sebastian rolls and the other half of the bed is cold and he cracks open his eyes, groaning at the light. 

Jim's gone. 

No clothes, no shoes, no note, no nothing. 

He didn't know what he honestly expected. Jim to be with him? How awkward would that be... He didn't even know _why_ he'd kissed him, why they'd let it go so far. What it meant now, for them. It was after he showered, looked over himself in the mirror and winced at the scratches down his chest and back, the bites on his chest and neck and shoulders. The bruising that was starting to develop around his neck. **_Jesus._ ** That's when he realized he didn't have Jim's number. It'd be weird to go over to his house, right? Jim was technically a teenager, he was technically an adult... He just had to wait and see if he'd come back around.

Spoiler Alert: He didn't. 

Sebastian notified his superiors after his dad was found. They were sympathetic and gave him an additional two weeks’ leave to deal with the estate and the funeral. He arranged the funeral, uncaring, letting his father go in the ground next to his wife, who'd be buried only two days prior. He told everyone it was rushed because he wanted to see the funeral before he got shipped back. He got everything, because there wasn't anyone else to get anything. Family members crawled out of the woodwork, distant cousins and more wanting money or the estate. He kept his father's lawyers and solicitor and arranged for everything to be sold. He had no attachment to the house or the land, and it took an annoying amount of paperwork and even more phone calls to get the process started for abdicating the title. 

He ended up having to leave before seeing Jim again, he even went around and hung out watching his house for a bit but he never showed. Eventually, he gave up. Obviously... well, obviously he'd fucked up or Jim was just... done with him. Wasn't interesting anymore. He left an envelope in their mailbox, addressed to Jim. It was short because he didn't know what to say. Sorry I ruined stuff? Sorry I pushed things? Keep in touch? Write me sometime? Please don't go insane and end up in jail, I think you're the only person in the world who might be as fucked up as I am? In the end, he went for something simple. 

_'You're smart. Don't waste it.'_

And a check written out to Jim for the tidy sum of ten thousand pounds. 

The process to get accepted into Special Service was brutal. He didn't forget about Jim, but he had to shove that aside because there wasn't anything he could do about it. He ran, he trained, he shot. He put his nose to the ground and got used to the dirt that covered every inch of his things, the fine powder that lived in every piece of food, the grit in his drinks and in his teeth. He met people like him, not like Jim and not exactly like him, but like him enough. He learned what happened to them too, the savages who snapped and shot their own men, who let their bloodlust run rampant and eventually got court marshaled. He had to testify against a few, after a bad incident in Puli Alam. 

His leave took place in other countries, India, Iraq, Afghanistan. He got promoted to Major after he led three successful raids, excelling in duty. They kept him busy, pushed him hard. He made friends, three of them. Ginger, Wings, Scotty. They were a troop together, a Mobility troop specialized in desert warfare. They drank together, picked up chicks and guys and gambled and laughed. He saw mountains, hiked in Tibet. He spent a week in a monastery, sitting in silence, following monks. He saw painted cliffs, burning desert sands. He learned about the stars, how they twinkled like diamonds against the black velvet of the sky. He grew to love the cold chill of desert nights, the blazing heat of the day. He tanned and got more scars, cuts and scrapes. He made his longest shot, 2,763 meters, after waiting three days and two nights in the sand on a plateau, sitting in a dry shrub, waiting for an enemy target to leave his tent. He sent more men home in body bags than he and Jim ever did, went to five funerals, bought two new black suits that he never wore. 

He drank and he smoked and he learned new card tricks and he developed a few of his own. He could drink ‘til he couldn't walk straight and have a man flip a coin into the air and he'd nail it, steady as ever under the blinding heat of the sun. He read more books than before, rereading old ones and throwing some in the fire that were garbage. He thought, too. About what he'd do if he left. If he got medic'd out. How Jim was. Where he was. If he missed him. 

And when he went back for Wings after a raid four years after leaving, half-carrying half-dragging the man to their lift, shoving the man into the arms of medics... When he felt the punch in his side, like someone had hit him... When he collapsed, suddenly burning, feeling the wet and the heat running out of him, he thought of dying. He thought of how death didn't feel cold at all, Jim was so brilliant but so wrong, it felt hot and it burned and it hurt. 

_He thought of Jim._

\--

His father sought him out in the kitchen as he was brewing enough coffee to send a bear into cardiac arrest and keep him company during the night. The man fidgeted a little before producing an envelope with his name on it. He silently took it and his father left him to it. Since the old man had cut on the booze, he’d been able to take better notice of his son and... of course, he would be awkward and ill at ease in Jim’s presence. But it happened his father was of a shy and un-confrontational nature and mostly left his son be. He was undoubtedly cowed by Jim weirdness, but would not report on it, seeing it more as a result of his own failings he wanted to make amend on than a condition warranting treatment. As long as he kept seeing things this way, Jim had no problem with him.

The envelope was from Moran. A note... Jim flipped it mechanically with a raised brow, but the back was again blank. His brows rose higher still when he caught sight of the check. That was quite a sum. Well, that would come handy.

++

Jim… let’s just say he kept skimming through time. He finished high school with flying colors, since it was required to secure his scholarship. Got into Oxford and boy what a change. The lease offered by Moran’s money allowed him a comfort he was appreciative of. New clothes and nice ones at that. Private room (even if he picked the cheap one). He discovered himself a new love for computers that he could afford to go bonkers on... Bless him for it. He even named his pet laptop Sebastian in a particularly fond moment. He loved to rant to Sebastian.

Getting into uni was both a disappointment (he had expected so) and a relief (that was a little less expected). People remained clueless twats swimming around and out of his little bubble. But at the same time, it offered him a clean slate to write on as unsurprisingly none of his old schoolmates had made it here. His father texted him once in a blue moon, probably afraid of intruding. He was free.

And bored.

That’s how it started. With Jim lying in the sharp shade of a bush on a scandalously nice day. A couple of older boys went on ranting about some test notoriously horrendous they had coming. And how they would give anything for a tip-up.

It was mundane, boring. But Jim was already bored out of his mind. Hell, he’d been counting _butterflies_ before eavesdropping the chat. And so, his mind started ticking.

_Tick, tick, tick._

A couple of months later he had to purchase a throwaway phone because, really, there was only so much discretion possible when communication was going round on slips of paper. It had started slow, with him solving things for people on a fling, just curious to see the rumor mill going batty. Then people had started to actively seek help from _M._ It was about anything really, from ensuring a mark to provide certain drugs. At one point he had to kill someone and disguise it as a suicide. Jake had commented on it afterward, about the guy having been a real sordid arsehole. Big gruesome sob story with some girl. Not that Jim cared. 

_Jake_ was his unknowing gossip collector, an interesting and surprisingly efficient way to harvest information around. Jake had taken a fancy in him early on and Jim had not taken the threat seriously until the guy was unshakeable from his boots. After a couple of convincing evenings, he had concluded there were worst things than having an eager good-looking fellow sticking to him.

That was pretty much it, and days melted into weeks and years. He was recognized on an academic level and several teachers had approached him and offered to tutor him through a Ph.D. And during his free time and nights, he tinkered with what little problems people sent his way. It was keeping the balance and time flowing around him, even as it lacked hue and vibrancy. It was just _staying_... And keeping it this way. 

That’s how Moran found him.

_That_ had been unexpected, and almost had him fumbling his steps as he walked up daydreaming the familiar route to his apartment. Moran, stocked up and leaning next to his door. Waiting – obviously tense and... Recently wounded. Medical discharge then.

Jim propped up an eyebrow in honest surprise.

“Well, if this isn’t the soldier boy!” He chanted.

\--

"Hey." He wondered how he looked. He'd tried to call, but Jim's dad refused to give him his number? It'd taken a shit load of finagling to get the goddamn address from him, and even then only after he spun an elaborate lie of Jim and him being best friends in middle school. He felt weird. He felt awkward. He felt hurt. No, not emotional. He _really_ fucking hurt. His side fuckin' hurt, because he'd missed his noon dose for his goddamn pills and needed to change the plaster but he couldn't because he had to take his fuckin' pants off for that because the stitches ran down his fucking hip. 

He had learned very quickly that he wasn't dying. Prolly would have if no one had dragged him back, just bled out. But Scotty had helped him into their transport, held the expandable and super absorbant pads to his side, his eyes wide with fright and pain. They had dug the bullet out of him; it hadn't gone all the way through and it'd be one of those stupid hollow-point bullets. Left a big fuckin' hole and plenty of metal bits they had to dig out. Not enough to kick him out of the army, thank fuck, but he supposed to take a month of health leave while his stitches healed up...

And he didn't have a place to live. 

God, he was an idiot, seeing Jim standing there, that cocky smile and that goddamn eyebrow. He shouldn't have shown up. But he hadn't told him to leave yet so... fuck, he had to try, right? He'd realized how much he'd missed Jim, how much he'd thought of him when he was laying in the sand, when he was riding in the helicopter back. He had to see him. He to know if he'd ruined things. If they were still good. Just seeing him was a goddamn relief. He looked good, still thin as ever and barely any taller, but he looked good. 

He had a crutch and he had to drop his duffle to shift his shirt up, showing the spread of white wrappings. "Got shot. On medical leave ‘til I get my stitches out. I'll kip on your couch for the month." He didn't let it end as a question, because he didn't want to be denied. Didn't want to sound needy either. _Soldier boy._ Was he Jim's soldier boy? 

\--

Jim scoffed. He would not have let anyone stay in his flat, even for a sleepover, but... Moran was different, eh? It made Jim wonder about it for half a second before shrugging it off and moving to unlock the door.

“I don’t have a couch, Moran. This is student accommodation.” He pushed the door open and lead the way inside the one room. He gave a critical look to the clustered mess covering the floor. “I guess if I clear this out you could fit in snugly. If you don’t mind sleeping on a mattress and on the floor that is.” He raised an inquisitive brow already halfway through tipping something on his phone.

One eye on the phone and the other on Moran it was easy to catch the unveiled curiosity that was eating him. He was taking in every nook of the room and Jim felt a quick flare of annoyance at the scrutiny of his things.

“Your place’s a mess.” Moran commented shortly, his teeth a little clenched, but still teasing. “I bet people would give up looking for my dead body just by catching a glimpse of this clutter.”

Someone was holding in pain it seemed. How long had Moran been waiting outside his room? A pleasant and somehow satisfied feeling spread from this thought.

“If this place is not to your taste,” he said, throwing his arms open like a showman, “you can still piss off to the closest hostel _milord_.” Jim answered with an oversweet smile.

Moran paused, certainly assessing Jim’s theatrics, before dumping his bag on the nearby chair.

“Floor’s fine by me,” he shrugged “but I am not against sharing the bed"

Jim gave a short, pleased giggle, before a merry chime from his phone redirected his attention. “You’re too big, and I’ve a feeling I would be the one ending up on the floor, which is not gonna happen.” He typed a quick reply, before clasping his hands enthusiastically. “O-okay, I am leaving you be for about ten minutes. You,” he emphasised, “are going to treat this wound and _not_ preen through my things. Bathroom through the door, everything I have you could need is in the little cupboard. Don’t touch anything else.”

In the end, Jim wasn’t satisfied until Moran got what he needed from his bag and shut himself in the bathroom. There was the soft click of the door that told him Jim left.

Seven minutes later he was back. With someone.

“Shut up Jake. Let’s just prop the thing against the wall I need to clean up some space.”

“Come _ooon_ , I am lending you my spare, least thing you could do is telling me who’s going to sleep in it?’”The other voice answered. The very voice raked on Moran’s nerves. “Who can be secretive James’ mystery guest?”

“Jake,” Jim answered with an edge of threat, “I know this mouth of yours _veeeery_ well,” and flirting? “and if it starts blabbering around about this you are going to regret it.”

Knowing Jim that was as serious a threat as could be but the other bloke... He just gave a good-hearted honest laugh in response.

“Ok ok, James. No chattering around. But _I_ , at least, can be introduced to your friend, hum?” And the guy just sounded so... Eager and friendly. It was completely out of place. And it didn’t seem to bother Jim overmuch.

Moran’s fingers tightened on the brim of the sink, his knuckles turning white.

\--

Of course. Obviously Jim, no. _James_ now, apparently. Had friends. Good friends. Friends he _fucked_. Jesus, why did that bother him so much? It wasn't like... it wasn't like they were anything. He wondered if Jim moaned the same for him. He wondered if his new friend had a goddamn bitemark scaring his chest too, from nasty and deep bite Jim had left that night. 

He wasn't jealous. 

**Not. At. All.**

He splashed water on his face, swallowed his pills. The pain pills, the ones to fight infection, those nasty green ones that were supposed to help blood cell regeneration or some shit. He still got a bit woozy if he stood up too fast. Okay. Meet the friend. Don't be an asshole. He could do that. Wasn't like he owned Jim. He'd fucked around plenty, hadn't he? Yeah. What was the difference? 

He left the bathroom, his jeans low on his hips, top button undone, the bandages freshly changed, his shirt abandoned by the sink. It was a dirty move for sure, showing off tanned skin and muscles and a physique he was proud of, his hair ruffled and damp from the water. Sebastian cocked an easy, charming grin. He'd gotten better at using his looks to get what he wanted, and now he was playing it up. "Yeah, darlin'," he winked, his grin boyish as he leaned against the doorframe. Thank god those pills kicked in fast. "I get that you're ashamed of me, but can't keep me in the bathroom forever. I might go stir-crazy." 

There's a spare mattress between them and he approaches, grabbing it effortlessly _(jesus_ **_FUCK_ ** _his stitches!)_ and shifting it the rest of the way in, leaving it on the cleared off spot Jim had made. "Major Sebastian Moran, at your service." He holds his hand out to the man. He **hates** him. 

He's tall and lean, a swimmer's body, muscled but not like his own bulk. Jake's got a bright smile and a nice face, his eyes warm and brown and Sebastian **hates** him. His hair is a golden-red color and curly in a messy, doesn't-know-how-to-style-it way, freckles on his face and a chipper attitude that he can't understand how Jim stands. He's pretty, and Sebastian hates him because he knows he's not as pretty as he once was, five years ago. He’s broken his nose and it's straight now but he's got a scar across the bridge, between his eyes. A horizontal scar, dark from the desert sun across his left cheek, running by his ear. He's got a smattering of cuts and lines across his chest, the old wound on his chest from that misfire from five years ago is pale, pink and silver and tinged blue in some spots from the gunpowder embedded in his skin. 

He used to be a pretty boy like that, but he's not now. 

He **hates** Jake. He's _everything_ Sebastian should have been. Close to Jim, in uni, carefree and grinning and sickeningly nice. 

"How do you know my Jim?" He's possessive in his movements, even if his words are friendly and bright, slinging an arm around Jim even though it pulls at his stitches and the pain pills aren't _that_ strong. 

\--

When Moran steps out of the bathroom, Jake’s eyes light up like a cat that caught the bird. Of course he checks Moran out, but to be quite honest, given Moran's state of undress it would have been an impressive feat if he had managed not to. And the way he does it... It’s more like he is storing detail for future teasing than anything. He got this smile painted on his face up until the moment Moran loops an arm around Jim.

Then it freezes and gets... weary? Moran doesn’t have long to wonder why the boy's eye flip worriedly to Jim. The moment his hand wraps around Jim’s frame, he can feel him coil and tense under him. He freezes and the only thing coming up to Moran’s mind is _I fucked up_.

There is a quick shove _right_ on the stitches, and it must look like a playful move from the outside, but god it hurts like a bitch.

“Piss off, Moran.” Jim snarl, his tone just right to pass as a faked annoyance. “And you,” he turns to the redhead, “out before you start having any funny ideas.”

“Perhaps we could grab a pint altogether?” Jake retort with a mischievous light in his eyes, focusing from Jim to Moran. “Get Jim drunk well and proper and then I can tell you what he doesn’t want you to know.” He continues with a laugh in his voice.

At this point, Jim just grabs him and shoves him out, with just a last snippet of “I am room 24 if you need some sp…” before the door bang shut in his face.

It is followed by an eerie and still silence as Jim just stays unmoving, both arms braced on the door. Facing away from Moran. When he talks, his voice is completely flat, with a dangerous edge.

“Don’t crowd me, Moran. I don’t take well to it when I am not prepared.”

\--

Jesus _fuck_ he didn't expect that. "Weren't so testy last time I touched you." He keeps his voice casual, leaning back up against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest. Goddamn that hurt, if he had done it any harder he'd be worried that he'd torn a stitch. "Though, didn't really stick around for a repeat so what do I know?" He obviously stays around for Jake. Or at least, fucking _talked_ to him after, unlike Sebastian. Oh, he knew they fucked. He could _see_ it in the way Jake looked at Jim, because he had that same damn interested look and he wasn't a goddamn idiot. 

"So if you're prepared then I can manhandle you, yeah?" He says it in a tease, moving away from the wall because he doesn't want Jim to see the clench in his jaw. He starts to walk around the room, looking, but not touching the piles of things to see what Jim's into these days. "Thanks for lettin' me stay," he said as he did, changing the subject. "We should take him up on his offer, if you don't have classes. Catch up. You'd be surprised to learn that I've got friends, odd as it sounds." He wonders if Jim would be any jealous if he knew what Moran had been getting up to. 

"Been doin' anything interesting while I've been gone?" _Like Jake._ Christ. Did he even want him here? He hadn't said no, and god knows Jim would have... but he'd just fuckin' _left_ after that night. Not a goddamn word. How's he supposed to take that? Most people say something. Leave a fucking note. He always did. 

Then again, Jim wasn't most people. 

"The 'James' is new, I like it. Glad to see you're makin' friends, too." Even if they were horribly chipper and made him want to bash their face in. "Have to let me know if I need to clear out occasionally if you're seeing anyone. Sock on the door," he crooks a smile at Jim, though a layer of unease thrums beneath his skin. He's rambling, too. Even if Jim doesn't go... Yeah, he's going to get that drink with Jake. Scope the guy out. 

\--

Jim’s turns around and for a second annoyance flashes on his face, before turning to weariness. He drags a hand down his face and comes closer to Moran.

“Needing some flags, hum?” He asks. “Easy enough. Don’t startle me. If you come from a dead angle make some noise to warn me. Don’t cut off my movement range. I can get a little _skittish_ when I am caught unaware.” He gives around a glance at the room. “Don’t touch my things,’ and amend, registering the mess, “well, don’t go poking obviously.”

He grasps a cup of what must be long cold coffee before jumping on the bed and settling there cross-legged. He looked almost comfortable amidst the chaos and mess. He gives a couple of owlish blinks, his eyes going unfocused.

Moran was insecure that much was obvious. He was twitchy even before Jake showed up so it wasn’t jealousy. Even if Jake had _somehow_ stuck a deep wrung cord that probably warranted some tuning. Moran was a ticking bomb that could very well misfire or blow everything to shards. Or could keep on ticking. And wouldn’t that be funny?

“I am not pissed or anything, and I am pleasantly surprised you showed up. It’s just... my friends know not to crowd me too much and I just don’t think about mentioning it anymore. But we are good now, aren’t we?”

And wasn't that just the perfect smile matching those words.

\--

He didn't like how Jim said that. How Jim said his _'friends'_ knew. As if Sebastian wasn't his friend. As if Sebastian was a stranger who didn't know anything about him. Like Jake or any of the other people he'd started hanging around knew him. They couldn't, because they wouldn't be around if they did. They didn't _know_ him like he did. They didn't know about Powers, or Sterling, or Kendall. Or his father. 

Or did he? What had Jim gotten up to while he was gone? Had he continued? He hadn't last time, so would he have now? He'd have to ask around... _Definitely_ grab drinks with Jake. Jim would... Jim would _have_ to show him something. He was benevolent in the worse way. Uncaring but with a smile, perfect and warm and not real at all. "We're good. Gonna nap your bed for a night and make you kip on the floor if I find out you tore a stitch loose though." He flashed his own cool smile. 

He didn't think it looked as real as Jim's. 

He went for bevs with Jake a few nights later, which made Jim follow. Somewhat predictable, he figured Jim would. Not out of jealously, but more to keep an eye on Moran. He was relatively quiet, watching and listening as Sebastian regaled Jake with his dumb stories, occasionally looking at Sebastian with eyes that might have been warning, might have been angry, but changed so mercurially that he couldn't tell. Despite their attempts, Jim did not get drunk. Sebastian didn't either, not keen to be on unequal grounds afterward, but he did get a healthy buzz and he certainly got Jake well enough drunk. 

And Jake talked. Boy, did he talk. If Moran thought he rambled, Jake took the gold. He gladly talked of how he and Jim met, what they did together. In the end, by the time Jake stumbled from the bar with an arm slung around Sebastian's shoulder, he was reassured in his place. Jake was harmless. He didn't know Jim, he didn't know how the man really acted or what he was really like. He knew an act, a fake. Jim wasn't straight and narrow, no, there was no way of that. He'd have gone mad. Madder, really. He was secure in his place at Jim's side (done playing his games, really).

Until he walked back to the bar because Jim forgot his jacket and showed up just in time to see the fucking little prick with his hand on Jake's chest, whispering something in his ear before ghosting his lips across his cheek, a coy and teasing smile. 

_Son of a fucking_ **_bitch!_ **

The worst part? When he was laying on the mattress at night, rethinking that moment over and over again, he couldn't be sure Jim had planned him to see that or not. The timing, the position... there wasn't a way he could have planned it, right? Or could he have, set it up just to make Sebastian jealous and worried?

It settled under his skin like nails, pricked and bothered and Jim didn't seem to notice. He felt like he was on a rubber band. Jim kept pulling him and pulling him one direction, snapping him back whenever he got too bored or too annoyed or too anything, really. He was fairly certain that Jim might not feel a goddamn thing other than the desire to fuck with him. At the exact same time, he totally believed Jim found him to be the closest thing to 'similar' as him, kept him around. And Sebastian _liked_ it. 

He wanted to get him to react. He wanted to push him and make him do something other than act like Sebastian had never left, never come back at all. He just... seemed to exist. Sebastian was a goddamn potted plant, it seemed. 

So he'd get his fucking attention, one way or another. 

It started with cleaning the flat. Jim told him not to touch his stuff. 'His stuff' included plenty of disorganized piles of crap. So Sebastian did what a soldier did. He cleaned. Jim had to leave for classes and Sebastian took advantage of that to haul four bins of trash out. He wasn't malicious about it, he didn't trash anything he thought Jim might actually be angry about. But old cups of coffee, cup noodles, things that grew fuzz? And when had the place last been dusted, anyway? Full offense to Jim, but two weeks of staying here was almost enough to send him running back to the army base. Even with the sand, at least it was fucking clean. He vacuumed (had to borrow one from a neighbor), dusted, scrubbed. He organized things. Some stuff he barely touched, but he absolutely poked and moved everything at least a little bit. 

He knew it'd get a reaction. 

And if it didn't? He had a backup plan. He'd gotten closer and closer to Jake, managed to get him alone a few times. He had a 'date' (official, used that word and everything) tomorrow. And if he took a cat-nap on Jim's bed afterward the cleaning spree? Perfectly timed so that he'd be laying there still asleep when Jim got out of classes. Serves the little fucker right for messing with him. Didn't feel so good when it was turned around, did it?

\--

The soft click the door made when Jim pushed it open was not enough to rouse Moran from sleep. The noise he _made_ when discovering the state of the room _was_. It was more of a strangled shriek than a shout, and possibly did not sound entirely human. Moran woke up disorientated and tangled in the sheets, looking franticly for the source of the sound. Which appeared evident when Jim got past the first stage of shock to start actually shouting something.

“What have you done to my **_ROOM!_ ** You... **_YOU._ **” But the word seemed to stay stuck in the back of his throat.

Moran was still blinking sleep from his eyes (things were happening fast) and saw Jim give a couple of spins from his position. Before grabbing his laptop from the desk and leaving in a whirlwind, banging the door so hard the soft wall shook from the force of it.

Moran propped himself on his elbow, watching as the dust that was covering the walls slowly went to settle on every surface and object. Well... That had brought up a reaction.

Jim did not show up that night.

In the morning there was a hard knock on the door. Moran had been turning for some time and just got up with a groan. Jim would not knock so whoever this was... Did not bother to wait for him to open the fuckin door.

Jake waltzed in, slice of bread in his mouth, and balancing two cups of coffee.

“Hey hey Moran! Hope I am not waking you up! Brought breakfast!”

Moran grumbled – it was too early in the morning for a headache - , but slid on a smile anyway. Not the company he wanted right now, but he'd been working on getting a reaction from Jim, so... well, continue the plan, right? “A pretty thing like you bringing me breakfast? Wake me up any time. Though, other ways are welcome as well.” He winked, flashing a crooked smile.

“That's got to be earned through late night's hard work.” Jake answered back with a laugh, wriggling his way in expertly and toward the table to finish his dangerous equilibrist display.

That’s when he got a full view of the room. A whizzing, gasping laugh escaped him as he doubled over, hilarious.

“So that’s why he is in such a _murderous_ mood.” He finally managed to say, hiccuping a little. “You’ve bloody _cleaned_ his mess.”

And it seemed the look on Moran’s face was enough to send him into another fit of laughter.

“He’s holed up in my room and won’t budge. I was worried you had a fight and wanted to make sure you were ok. Well I also wanted to see if you would extract him, I did not mind the night,” and he did seem honest if a bit stiff now that Moran paid attention,”‘but now he keeps ranting at his computer since 5am and I need to get some work done.”

\--

"It was a goddamn pigsty. Needed to be cleaned," He keeps his smile on, shrugging. Jake's got a bit of a limp and he's moving stiff in a way that Sebastian fucking recognizing. Son of a bitch. He's got a goddamn _hickey_ on his neck too. 'Didn't mind the night' goddamn right Jake didn't mind the night, not with him getting fucked by Jim, apparently. "He'll get over it eventually. We still on for tomorrow night?" 

Jake confirms they are, which is good. They're not dating, he knows that much. A casual fuck. Fine. Well if Jim's gonna bruise the man up, then he's gonna _ruin_ him. He almost feels sorry for how sore Jake's gonna be, but... well, he's just a pawn in the game. Even if he was pretty fun. Maybe they'd keep him around. "Gimme twenty, you might wanna clear out. I'll haul him outta your place, but he's gonna be a little bitch about it." He can't help the honest, wide grin at that. He takes a swig of the coffee, burning the tip of his tongue, then tosses a shirt on, heading next door to Jake's. 

Jake's place was cleaner, posters on the walls, books and video games. It looked lived in but not a trash heap. Cozy in a way Jim's didn't. And the fucker was on his bed. Black hair delightfully messy in that 'just had sex' way, his shirt gone and in borrowed lounge pants. He was thin and pale and stupidly, horribly lovely to look at. He had his own hickeys and marks and Sebastian burned. "Okay Jimmy, we're going home." His smile was wide and bright, fakely so. Jim scrambles, snatching the laptop and he's pretty sure that the guy was about to say something snarky, but...

Sebastian steps forward and he's quick and strong and grabs Jim, slinging him over his shoulder (careful to put him over his healthy one, not wanting to get kicked in his stitches), tucking the laptop under his other arm. "Sorry 'bout the trouble, Jake. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, darlin'." Jake's got an 'oh boy, you fucked up' look on his face when Sebastian drags Jim in and is quick to clear out. Sebastian places the computer safely on the desk before tossing Jim onto the bed. 

"I cleaned your mess, big fuckin' deal. Stop pouting and leave Jake alone, he's got work to do." He's close to the bed and even with his injury, he's still quick and he pins the smaller man down, straddling his waist and pinning his hands up. "Now, we gonna fuckin' talk about the attitude since I've been around, or pretend things are normal? I'd like to know so I don't spend the next three weeks asking questions I don't get answers to." 

\--

Jake watched Moran haul Jim out, both eyebrows raised in an ‘oh boy’ fashion. Jim was snarling and spitting like an angry cat, but Moran did not bulge. He gave a disbelieving huff as the couple of them turned the corner. Somehow, he was glad Jim had not been wearing his jacket when Moran picked him up, he was pretty sure he kept at least one knife tucked in the inner pocket. And he _had_ looked pissed.

Jim was feeling like he was burning up and just wanted to launch himself at Moran and rip that smile off his face. He _knew_ he was overreacting but that stupid smile and moronic flirt, it just sent him in overdrive. He’d thought it would be funny to keep Moran on his toes but had not anticipated how much Moran _could_ keep on his toes. And it made sense. Because, he’d come to understand, it was not this situation specifically that made Moran a ticking bomb. Moran _was_ in and at large a ticking bomb. Had always been. Just a hair from turning into a furnace raving fire. And he’d learned to live with it.

The moment he was thrown on the bed, bouncing slightly and caged by the soldier’s wide frame, he felt his bout of anger vanish in a wisp of smoke. Energy siphoned from his body and replaced by a deep-lying tiredness. After all, Moran just wanted to be let in. To haul himself onto Jim. To belong somehow. Perhaps he should tell him _he_ was just drifting away, with not a clue of what he was doing. Clinging onto him would not save Moran of whatever he was drowning in.

Jim threw his head back, gazing in the void. His eye fell on the coffee cups.

“I want breakfast.” He just said.

++

And they had. He dragged Moran to a coffee two streets down the university, some modern place he fancied and always had his favorite things on store. The barista was among his picks some days.

In under a quarter of an hour both were seated, with breakfast in front of them. Well, when he said breakfast… Jim’s order had apparently thrown Moran into a mild shock. The cake slice was enormous, some chocolate thing with strawberries and whipped cream all over. And the coffee-drink, if allowed to grow cold, probably would have to been eaten with a spoon. Jim was ravished. It was a drink he could tackle _every_ lesson with, even the mandatory literature course. He took a sip before musing.

“I… Never thanked you for the money.” He shrugged. “Not that you left me a phone number or something, but still. Just so you know, it has been helping. A lot.”

He gave a twirl to the cream on the cake absentmindedly, like he was thinking about wherever or not to continue. Or how to phrase it.

“It’s been weird this… last time. If it had not been you catching me, I‘d probably have died that night,” he continued with a fond smile, like one retelling a good joke about their last grandiose drunk exploit, “and afterward my sense of time got a bit tangled. Took me some time to get my mind to stop drifting away. By then you were gone.” He finished with a -that’s life- face.

He had a faraway look now, his eyes unfocused and his voice came out more like he was talking to himself than anything else.

“That’s why Jake’s good. Keep me from drifting too much. If I forget about classes or stuff, he comes to check on me.”

He shook his head a little, blinking his eyes and refocusing on Moran. With a smile.

\--

This is the most unusual series of events he's ever experienced in his entire life. Jim dragged him to some godawful modern, hipster-y looking coffee shop and got something that'd give an elephant diabetes (Sebastian went with a huge banana nut muffin and a black coffee) and now he was-- talking? Like actual, legit, probably-not-fake talking. They'd talked plenty the past two weeks, but it'd... it'd been so surface level in comparison. Moran wasn't going to bring up the last time, no way in hell, and Jim did whatever the fuck he wanted and half the time he was 'talking' to Sebastian, he was talking to his goddamn computer. 

He was _way_ too flattered that it'd been named after him. 

"I thought I ruined things." He admits after a long silence, trying to organize his thoughts in head. He wasn't very good at this, actual talking. He could charm the stripes off a tiger if he needed to, but that was all surface talk and nothing important in the long run. This was important. It was Jim, it was important. "You were... christ, you were a goddamn bonfire and I wanted to burn up too. I knew you weren't doin' good, felt like we were on a knife's edge and a single push and things would fall. Glad I didn't push wrong. World'd be worse off without you." He can't help but smile, the murders and trouble a private joke between them. 

"Actually, prolly would be better off without you. But I wouldn't be. You're- you're somethin', and I can't stop getting drawn back to you. I'd have left you a number or something but I didn't think you'd want it. Figured I was prolly just real good to pass the time, a nifty chew toy. I didn't know you were drifting like that. I've never had anything happen like that. For me it's- I gotta stay busy. Always doing something. Another job, another mission, anything." He rolls his eyes, chewing a bite of his muffin. "' I myself must mix with action, lest I wither in despair,'" he quoted, thinking. "'Spose I shouldn't get rid of Jake then. He's good for you and I hate it because..." Fuck, he's already rambling and he might as well jump into everything head first. "Because I'm a jealous arse who wants your attention. But that's not very good considering I'm only here til I heal up and then they'll ship me back." He almost doesn't want to go back, but there's nothing else he can do anymore. He's been there for nine years, it's all he knows anymore. How to shoot, how to kill. 

"As for the money... I sold it all. The estate, the things. Abdicated the title. Don't need it, don't want it. You were- fuck, you _are_ my only friend, or the closest damn thing I've got to someone who knows me and is fine with it. Dunno if we're two kids burnin' ants with a magnifying glass, or if I'm just an ant to you, but I wanted you to be able to do what you wanted to do. That place was shite, this world's shite. Not like I can do anything with the goddamn fortune I've got shoved into a bank account, most of my leave is taken in whatever place I'm stationed in. I don't even have a _house_ , obviously." The corner of his mouth quirks up in a bit of a grin. "I know you're working on things." Jim hadn't told him as much, but he wasn't stupid. Lots of texts and calls for a guy who wasn't the friendliest. 

He fiddles with the half-empty coffee cup, looking at the table while he thinks. Doesn't know why he's bothering with the thinking since he basically let his train of thought escape out his mouth for the rest of the conversation, but... "I'd like to help. You've still got a few years of school, so it'd be best if I went back for now, but... I'd like to give you the info for the accounts. Use whatever you want, army pays me enough and I don't even use that really. You'd make something of it, whatever it is you're doing now. Could make it bigger. Just leave me a place to fit into when I eventually get a leg blown off or somethin', yeah?" 

He's scratching the back of his head, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm moving around a lot, but if I left you my info, let me know how things are goin' once in a while, 'kay? I worried about you. Thought about you way too damn much. What you were up to, if you were okay. I've always had a hard-on for anythin' likely to get me killed, but christ I enjoy bein' around you way too damn much." 

\--

Wow. Moran was a mess. Jim felt a little ill at ease for him. Moran was… feeling so much. And he’d had the misfortune to cross the path of his little psychopath self. He’d gotten a taste for the wrong sort of fun and was now an outcast to the rest of the world, orbiting back to the only person likely to just nudge him farther and with a smile. On the ocean of humanity, Moran clung to Jim like a drowning man would a piece of driftwood. Jim felt a pang of something that ached in his chest, and moved to give a friendly pat on Moran’s forearm. Jim knew he was not normal. That he was going down. And if Moran kept around, he’d be dragging him along into the depth.

He would not let go.

A sudden and unexpected feeling uncoiled from a tight knot in Jim’s chest and _struck_ . Jim’s hand clenched Moran’s forearm reflexively in response, his body tensing up. Moran was _his_. Not from the beginning but from now on. The possessiveness struck like a punch and branded the desire in a way that Jim knew was definite. He felt like a spider that would have crawled into Moran’s open chest wound and nested there. Sprawling his silk against the pulsing living flesh and rotting the man’s heart. He was entangled, and if ever Jim felt like leaving, he would just have to sink his poison in one last kiss to take Moran with him. Biting into that raving fire and suck the life out of it in one grand drunk moment.

He took a deep breath in, trying to ground himself back into the moment. He still held Moran’s forearm and his grip must have gone bruising. He released it and skimmed the pad of his thumb on it in a soothing motion. Grounding himself.

“You want to finance me?” He finally asked with an amused smile. “I was just fooling around, to keep my mind busy. But now that you’ve brought forth the idea... I can see the appeal of making a business of it.” And there was a dangerous and playful gleam to his eyes.


	5. A Vicious Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now you take the four steps and you do it aaaaalllll over again, and again and again.
> 
> This is about taking isolated, useless things and slotting them together. This is about achieving power. This is about working hard, and smart.
> 
> This is the epilogue folks and we really hope you’ve liked it. Cheers!

Sebastian, for he was Sebastian now to Jim, was taken back by the army the moment he was deemed healthy. This time none of them vanished in a dramatic and angst fuelling way. Contacts were exchanged and Jim even put him into his train.

Time went on ticking. Jim passed his degree and was recruited on a professor’s capacity in an extraordinary fashion for his work during his Ph.D. He’d been very proud of his first paper and even sent a paper copy to Sebastian. Not that the man got much out of it. He quickly became a recognized figure in his tightly knitted community, and moved about quite a lot. On one memorable occasion, he’d been to a conference nearby where Sebastian was positioned and they had an indecent amount of sex. Apparently, Moran had gone a bit nuts at seeing Jim finally rid of the last scraps of his teenage years’ awkwardness.

And then there was the business. It was going well. Expanding further. Jim was just melting slowly into the shadows of the underworld and before people took notice, he was behind them and whispering in their ear. His position was shaky, and he walked it like a tightrope walker his rope. With gracious agility and a crazy fuckin' lot of self-confidence. And it was enough to fool people and to start the myth. Of course, there were never many details in their correspondence. Nothing compromising. But Moran had learned to read in between the lines and he liked how Jim sounded.

Everything was fine. That is, before things went down into a nightmare on Moran’s side. They got flanked and the new recruits panicked... And somehow everything went from bad to worst, down and down until he hit the bottom end of a dirty, hot and narrow cell.

\--

Something changed, that day in the coffee shop. Sebastian wasn't sure what he said to make it so, but it changed for the better. There was still the undercurrent of electricity and lightning that seemed to float around Jim, even if he was the only one who noticed it and got shocked, but there was also something else. Some sort of steady resolve. 

Jim sent him off to war with a kiss and a promise to keep in touch. 

And he did, which was both a surprise and a relief. Their letters and emails weren't deep, he was SAS and they regulated and read his things and they both knew it, but he could read between the lines and was happy to learn of his degree, his advances. By the time Jim was a professor, he'd made Colonel. He didn't understand much of his publication but he'd crowed loudly when he let his troop have extra drinks that night and they'd ruffled his hair and slapped his back and said he was whipped by a nerd and that his boyfriend was dating a meathead. He didn't correct them about the nerd thing, because it was kinda true and he chuckled too, but only because he was laughing at the fact that he knew Jim was building something they'd never even dream of. He didn't correct them about the boyfriend thing because... well, it wasn't _(?)_ true and it didn't matter either way because he wasn't leaving the man even if they weren't fucking. 

Which changed when he learned that Jim was at some smart people math thing the town over where he stationed. He'd never requested leave before, he didn't really have a place to go before seeing Jim in uni and afterward the guy was busy and Seb was kept equally busy. He'd take it when they told him he had to, when it was regulation, but he never really got the chance to go back to England for it. But when he learned Jim was going to be less than 100km away? He was outside his superior's office at the crack of dawn, demanding the full two weeks he was supposed to get yearly. Enough arm bending and he got it. 

And christ was he pleased. Jim had grown, he'd settled into his skin and lost all that ganglyness. He was slick and cool and there was a confidence he hadn't had before and he was in a goddamn _suit_ and Sebastian thought he might blow a load in his pants when he saw him. He'd dragged him to Jim's room and the man had to quite literally tie him to the bed to escape getting jumped so he could get dressed and go to his conference. 

Not that he minded too much, though the ropes coulda been a _little_ looser...

It was great. Things were great, _they_ were great. He loved it, loved everything minute of it. 

And then everything went to shit and he was going to be killed. 

They'd raided a mujahedin camp, a smaller base. It was supposed to be easy, but a newbie tripped a mine and then the whole camp knew they were there. It'd been like shooting fish in a barrel, they were in a goddamn minefield and the poor fuckin' kids had scattered and the ones who didn't get blown up got shot down. He wasn't stupid, he knew how things were going down and he had enough experience to know how hostage negotiations went down. They'd beat him and try to get information from him but they'd turn him over once they got paid and what they wanted, and he knew they'd be given what they wanted. They wouldn't leave him behind. 

And then he and five others got transported to a large camp. 

And then the people in charge of getting them out got footage of two of their guys getting executed and he knew how it went down. Numbers were run somewhere, in an office. And the fuckers in charge decided that the four soldiers left there in that hellhole weren't worth the manpower and the asset drain to get them out. They'd been left for dead. Two of his guys got sick, the conditions weren't good and their wounds got infected. Shrapnel from the field, plus the whipping and the lashes, long stripes on all their backs until their flesh was in shreds. The dust was everywhere, red and gritty and it sunk into the wounds and itched and he wasn't surprised when they died and it was just him and another guy. 

It was supposed to be an easy job. And easy raid. They'd sent him in with a team of mostly new guys, they weren't strong enough, they weren't prepared. He was though, but he knew how it'd end. He had information and they got it from him. They had all the time in the world to get it out of him and he was going to die there. Trading secrets of the people who'd sentenced him to death in exchange for a bit of relief, a little less suffering was worth it. The other guy was tougher than his other troops had been, but he was losing it. Talking to himself. Sebastian kept quiet, whenever he was awake. He sat, mostly, because his chest was raw and red and his back was on fire. His legs had been sliced and cut and burned by cigarettes and he'd been poked and prodded and hung by his wrists and ankles and sitting was the least painful. 

He spent his time rethinking of memories. He'd expected to get injured, medic'd out. Or maybe retiring, when Jim asked him to come work for him. Once everything was stable. He dreamt and daydreamed of things he could have had. Of maybe sharing a flat with Jim. Cooking breakfast and making him eat it. Listening to his stupid rants and ruffling his hair and watching him eat the weirdest, sugariest things. He was sick and he ached, every inch of skin felt raw and his bones burned and he knew it was only time before whatever he was sick with took him or they got fed up and killed him. He wondered how Jim reacted when he'd heard he was a POW. When they told him he'd been declared KIA, body unrecoverable. 

He wondered if he cried at all. He hoped not. That'd be weird. 

When the door was opened, the heavy metal sliding back and him and Henry grabbed, he knew something was different. They were yelling and talking and angry and they never bothered to take both of them out before. They were dragged towards the courtyard and he knew exactly what that meant. That's where they'd kill the first two, and that's where they'd kill them. He waited until he got out of the tunnels to struggle and try to make a break for it. Even if his head felt stuffed with cotton and he hadn't eaten a goddamn thing more than some fuckin' bread in four weeks he wasn't going to let them kill him so easily. But those things worked against him, he'd been kept in a tiny dark room and he was sick and weak and the asshole he punched recovered and knocked him in the head with the butt of his gun. 

He'd always been told his skull was thick and it must be because it didn't knock him out. His head swam though, as they dragged them out. The sun hurt his eyes, the blood dripping down into his lashes and making things look red. It was easier to just close his eyes and wait. 

The muffled talking went on forever but his brain didn't bother to translate, it didn't matter. And then a hand was gripping his hair, pulling his head up painfully and he heard... no, that wasn't... it was Jim but it wasn't, it was something else, cool oil and snakes in sand and coal dissolved in saltwater. "This one's half dead. I won't pay full price for that." Yup, his head swam, that was Jim. His head was dropped, the grip gone and even then he couldn't bother to pay attention, he just... whatever it was, he just had to hope it'd work out. That Jim would save him. Well. Not Jim, he supposed.

_Moriarty_.

Eventually, there was an agreement, because he heard Jim clapping way too close to his face and a maddening, gleeful voice. "Load up the merchandise, boys! And make sure they don't bleed on my seats," he purred at the end, wiping the blood away from Sebastian's eye. 

In all honesty, he didn't remember anything of the trip back to England. Someone stuck him with something and then he was out like a light, waking up feeling like a mummy in some goddamn room he didn't recognize. His eyes cracked open and... fuck, there was Jim, in his suit and on his laptop and... he felt a tear slid down in his face. "Hey," he croaked, and his lips cracked when he smiled when Jim looked up with a startled expression. Fuck, his throat hurt. 

"Gonna kip on your couch for a bit." 

\--

He passed out again, missing Jim's expression. It was precious though, as few people ever caught Jim either startled or out of his depth. He shrugged it off, with a shake of his head. He'd get used to it soon enough, as there was no way he'd let his Tiger out of the radar again. His hand clenched around the phone he was typing on for a second, as the realization of how close he'd managed Sebastian's survival.

He sent the last few orders and confirmations and set the phone aside, looking at his sleeping guest. In a few hours both Moran's old regiments and the men that had taken him prisoner would be wiped out. It was a statement and a power play. An introduction. 

Jim Moriarty did not fight back. He just didn't. He struck. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Dear all,
> 
> don't hesitate to drop a comment, a token of appreciation or a little poem declaring your undying love to us. It warms our little hearts to know you’ve had a good time reading this.
> 
> Sincerely yours,  
> Unseen Academical


End file.
